


Dead Man's Wish

by Ambie (noonvvraith)



Category: Far Cry (Video Games), Far Cry 5
Genre: Abuse Mention (non-descriptive), Alternate Universe - Western, F/M, Fluff, I will add more tags as the story progresses, Mutual Pining, with some supernatural motifs thrown into the mix
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-05
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2020-11-24 14:54:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 75,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20909486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noonvvraith/pseuds/Ambie
Summary: { FAR CRY 5 WESTERN!AU } Fates tied together by a dead man's last wish, Deborah - a young artist - and John - a successful bank owner - seek to uncover the mysteries surrounding the farm she inherited. Locals talk of ghosts, devils and a curse, but could it also be true that the heroes themselves have their own demons haunting them?





	1. The Hanged Man

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, so here we go. I discovered the power of 'yeehaw' inside me and naturally I need to do something with it. ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ Previous knowledge of the far cry games is not required, I wrote it in a way to make it possible to jump right in without knowing the source material. Updates will probably be slow, sorry about that. Also, English is not my first language, so please bear with me.

_ “According to our reports, a group of witnesses found the burned body of late Aden Ellsworth at his ranch, recognizing him by nothing but his hat. The murderer was identified as one of his employees, and is being currently hunted down by the authorities. The ownership of the ranch has been passed to Aden’s nephew according to the will he signed a few days before the murder. Prior to the owner’s death, the Ellsworth ranch has found itself in a slight decline due to its position nearby the ghost town of The Devil’s Point, surrounded by superstition and folk tales. Additional caution if wandering nearby the area until the killer is found is advised.” _

— ‘Ellsworth Ranch Owner Found Brutally Murdered’, Hope’s Peak Weekly  


* * *

It was a hazy summer morning. The fog rolled through the valley, colored with the honeyed amber of the dawn. Deborah wasn’t a particularly early riser but she was running on a contract and it was a bit of a stretch. And she never arrived late.

She had the painting carefully wrapped and prepared near the front door the evening before. She was quite proud of it as much as her inner critic would allow her to, anyway. Not something she usually painted, but maybe that was the upside of the whole business.

She hummed intently as she brushed her red hair in front of the mirror, blue eyes intently observing whether she didn’t miss a spot as she tied the front strands at the back of her head with a satin ribbon, letting the rest of her hair fall freely on her back. 

The big black cat on her bed purred as it stirred in its sleep, lazily opening one of the golden eyes and then blinking at her. Deborah looked at the creature with affection and reached out to scratch it behind its ears. The cat started purring immediately.

“Good morning, Balthazar.” She said in a low voice, still shaking off the morning tiredness. “I see you slept well.”

The cat let out an approving meow and after rising up and stretching his back legs jumped out of the bed, hurrying towards the kitchen - and the much beloved bowl of food. 

Deborah let him be and stood up, straightening the hem of her blue dress and heading for the front door. She breathed in the fresh air of the sleepy morning, gazing at the hills surrounded in fog, as if clouds descended from the sky to roll between the trees. She picked up the painting, but stopped to reach down and pluck a single daisy out of her front garden, pressing it behind her ear with a smile. Now she was ready.

* * *

She had Strawberry, her trusty dappled mare, since she was a foal. It was one of the few ties she had left to her previous life. Not that she would ever want to come back, but she couldn’t help remembering her past whenever she looked into the horse’s honest brown eyes. Even now, as she rode through the main street, the town of Hope’s Peak already awake, passing by the few early risers already on their feet. 

The bakery was open, as was the custom, and she couldn’t resist the irresistible smell of a fresh baked bread. 

“Heading off to somewhere, miss?” The old baker asked as he saw her approach, a trace of a smile under his lush beard. 

“Yes. I’m delivering one of my paintings.” She answered, taking the still-warm bread into her arms and putting a few coins on the counter, but the man gently stopped her hand.

“No need for that. This one’s on the house.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure? I would hate to take advantage of you.”

He shook his head. “Don’t worry your head about it. We are… all sorry for your loss.”

Oh, so that was the reason. There were quite a few people who took pity on Deborah and her mother. No wonder, since the murder shook everyone in the town to the core. It did happen a while ago, yes, but something like that is truly hard to forget.

They found the body in the early morning, burned to a crisp inside a barn. The building itself wasn’t damaged and there was no sign of a fire being set in the vicinity. The only way they could identify late Aden Ellsworth was thanks to his old leather hat that he always wore on him. It was a rugged, miserable little thing, way too marked by the touch of the years, with a single tarot card adorning it - the hanged man. Everybody suspected a worker at the ranch to be the murderer, some Samuel Dawson, though it was never confirmed. A man in his late twenties, but fierce and prone to anger, he was the last one who saw Aden before his death - and the one he had a dangerous quarrel with - one that ended up with murder. Nobody saw Samuel since, he left without a trace and soon vanished in the plains. Some theoretized his sins finally got to him, the others, more cautious ones, warned that he might be near and many of the townsfolk found it hard to sleep ever since. Not many dared to head into the plains - and the valley underneath - as if afraid the shadow of the murderer could always creep close. Chances are, however, that Samuel Dawson just up and run and hid, like any criminal would and that authorities might never catch him - wouldn’t be the first time. If he even committed the crime, that is.

Deborah hesitated for a while, then smiled and took her coins back. “Thank you.”

"Don’t worry about it.” The baker said again. “And take care, you know… with the killer on the loose and everything.”

“I will.” She nodded, thanked him again for the bread and left off.

* * *

The skies were painted orange with the rays of the rising sun, the wind gently playing with her hair as she rode through the rolling hills of Hope’s Peak. She was heading into the plains, the silhouette of the town shrouded in the shades of tall spruce trees only a small reminder on the horizon behind her. 

At the edge of the plains stood a lonely church, peeking over a rocky slope. St. John-in-the-Plains has seen better days. The view was breathtaking and yet, the number of faithful visiting the mass thinned with each month. As Deborah peered from her saddle, a deep valley spanned below the church, spruce trees dotting the narrow paths running down the hills. It was a beautiful sight, especially in the orange light of the morning, until her gaze hit the wooden sheds of the crooked buildings. A tiny town scattered bellow the trees must have been cozy and nice to live in, someday. It had a nice name as well, back in the day, but that didn’t seem to matter now, anyway. Everyone called it The Devil’s Point - a way too apparent name for a ghost town, perhaps, but it still kept farmers up at night and folks from wandering through the plains at certain phases of the moon. Or during daylight as well. The situation with the murder couldn’t help to make things any better, Deborah thought. 

She beckoned her horse to continue walking towards the church’s orchard and a green garden that seemed to be taken care of with love. In fact, a girl dressed in white busied herself among the flowers, giving Deborah a sweet smile as she saw her. 

Faith was always an early riser. 

“Debbie! Are you here with the painting?”  
“Yes.” She nodded, tying her horse to the wooden fence, taking in the rows of flowers before her. “I see that peonies are finally behaving again.”

"They do! I would offer to give you some, but seems like you already had a similar idea.” Faith remarked with a smile on her lips, pointing at the flower in Deborah’s hair. “You might want to head inside. Didn’t expect you so soon in the morning.”

“You know me.” Deborah answered, lifting the painting from the place it hanged behind her saddlebag. “Never was much for getting up early, but I have an… appointment I have to keep after this.”

“Oh?” There was a glint of mischief in Faith’s eyes as she stood up, wiping her hands into her apron. “An appointment with a gentleman, perhaps?”

Deborah rolled her eyes. “Quite, but it’s definitely not _ that _kind of an appointment. You should know, though.” She couldn’t help but add. “It’s someone you know.”

“Who?” The girl’s eyes beamed with interest as she followed Deborah towards the church, at the sound of her friend’s subtle giggles. “No, wait, _ who _?”

Deborah sighed, smiling. “Your brother.”

“My brother?” Faith stopped dead at her heels, suddenly taken aback. “You have an appointment that’s not _ that _ kind of an appointment with Jacob?” Then, after Deborah raised a single eyebrow: “Oh of course, why _ would _you have an appointment with Jacob.”

“I have a meeting with John because of the ranch.” Deborah said as they walked through the stairs leading to the church. “Door?” She gestured for her friend to open the sturdy wooden gate as her hands were quite full. “I’ve already went through the paperwork and he just wants to show me the grounds and officially hand me the keys.”

There was a hint of a shadow passing through Faith’s eyes. “Oh, I see. I’m so sorry again…”

“It’s okay.” She cut her off, now in whispers as they walked through the aisle. “Thank you.”

“But.... aren’t you afraid?” Faith mused aloud, playing with the hem of her apron.

"Afraid?”

“With all the rumors and… the killer on the loose. They already keep saying how it was the Devil himself that murdered your uncle, and some folks claimed to see a shadowy figure wander around the ranch at dusk, with horns and burning eyes.”

“And you believe them?”

Faith shrugged. There was a hint of hesitation on her face, but her eyes darkened with something unfamiliar, as if they already seen something that is better left unexplained. “I’m not sure. But some things don’t require our faith to exist.”

“That is quite true.” A surprisingly silent, yet firm voice cut through the tensed silence. “If all was set in stone there would be no place left for the faith to bloom.”

The man was in his thirties and dressed in a pastor’s suit, though his eyes betrayed his image to hint on a previous life different from that of a preacher - a life perhaps way too far away, but only for the better, one could imagine. He held an opened Bible in his one hand, the fingers of the other intertwined with the rosary beads hanging from his palm.

“Apologies, father Joseph.” Deborah uttered, slightly lowering her head, as she’s been taught much respect towards holy men. _ Despite _the fact most of them were the exact opposite of ‘holy’. She was well-mannered though, one of her prized qualities. “I didn’t mean to interrupt with your prayer. I’m here with the painting you commissioned.” 

“Ah, yes.” The preacher spoke, his features softening. “I was told you would come earlier. Thank you again for your work.”

“You haven’t seen the painting yet.” She said, handing him the canvas. “I’ll help you unwrap it.”

They put it on top of two adjacent pews, removing the soft paper covering the painting and letting the sunlight illuminate the scene depicted in front of their eyes.

It was one of her better works. Not that she often worked with religious motifs, but she took all the work she got and when she set her mind upon something, she wanted to make it perfect - or as perfect as she was able to.

It was a scene from the last supper, with the figure of Jesus and St. John, the patron saint of the church, sitting together at the front of the table. Jesus had a hand on the young man’s shoulder in a brotherly embrace with John leaning into his arms. 

Deborah always enjoyed playing with expressions. They were able to tell a whole story, especially if the true underlying emotions were hard to figure out at the first sight. She didn’t want to make John appear so sad at first, until she decided against it in the end. She had to read some passages of the Bible to remind herself, but she knew he was the youngest of the apostles, and yet the only one who stood with Jesus right until the end, under his cross. He sat on his right during the last supper, and yet here on the painting, it looked like the young man was sheltering himself from harm in his teacher’s embrace. His eyes were closed and his expression appeared serene as if foreshadowing the things that were about to take place and yet, the man seemed soothed by the presence of his mentor. It was an intimate moment, with the whole levity of the serenity of the situation making the emotional play much more stronger. Jesus knew what will happen to him at this point, yet his face was the epitome of calmness and peace. It appeared even more evident in the morning light and Deborah was quite proud of it. 

“It’s beautiful.” Faith whispered.

“It’s perfect.” Joseph admitted, hands behind his back as he inspected the painting. “Not quite as my initial ideas for it, but I’m glad you made the adjustments.”

She nodded, smiling, allowing herself to feel the sweet hint of pride. “I’m glad you like it.”

“It will look great in the church.” He let out a sad smile. “Might not get that many visitors, but I don’t see a reason why we couldn’t liven the place up a little. Besides, it’s known that our Lord appreciates art.”

She politely nodded, deciding to not mention the fact that _ some _religious groups would probably disagree. 

“Now if you excuse me, I’ll go and bring the payment.” Joseph said as he went towards the door in the back of the church, but was interrupted by a series of footsteps and a smooth voice echoing through the hall, visibly paying no heed to the unspoken rule of being quiet in the presence of the Lord.

“I will pay for the paining. I already said I will, _ brother _.”

The young man was fashionably dressed in an attire of a wealthy businessman, carrying his black hat in his hand, as was the custom inside the sacred space of the God’s house. Elegantly groomed dark brown hair and a trimmed beard only helped to carry out the image of someone who took good care for his visage, a notion well paired with a suave smile on his lips and the smooth voice carrying with his presence.

“Oh, my manners.” Joseph said, remembering himself. “This is my brother, John, and this young lady here is...”

“We’ve already met.” John interrupted his brother, giving Deborah a warm smile. “I’m helping miss Fawkes with the matters of her inheritance.”

“Of course, I nearly forgot about that.” Joseph admitted. “Aden Ellsworth did have an account at your bank, if I remember correctly?”

“He did. He also signed an agreement with me in his will that I will help his nephew with setting up the ranch again. Which is why I’m here precisely.” He said, now looking back at Deborah. “I shall pay for your work first and then we can depart, hmm?” He reached into his pocket. “Will this be enough?”

She raised her eyebrows at the outrageous sum, completely taken aback. “I… that’s way more than what me and the father agreed upon…”

“And arguably what you _ actually _deserve.” He said, looking at the painting, considering it with educated eyes. He appeared as someone who knows his art. Rightfully so, as he was the only around who could afford the most expensive pieces. He reached out to close her hand holding the money, a tiniest hint of flush in her cheeks as she felt the warmth of his palm for a brief moment. “You charge yourself way too under the price, my lady.”

She winked, shaking her head. “It’s still too much, I don’t know…”

“It’s nothing.” He said, trying to hide the boastful tone in his voice but ultimately failing. “Money’s no problem for _ me _. Seems only right I should be more willing to part with it, no?” He gestured towards the doors of the church, still wide open and letting the fresh morning air inside. “Shall we?”

She followed him outside towards their horses - John’s proud black stallion standing tall in the sunlight - as he continued speaking. “But if you still intend to worry your pretty head over it, you can paint something for me someday? A portrait of myself, perhaps?” He winked.

She let out a soft laugh, more at ease with the walls of the church left behind them. “I didn’t think you’d be someone who’s interested in that sort of thing.”

“What?” He faked a shocked gasp, but the corners of his mouth were smiling. “Are you insinuating I’m not _ vain _ or _ handsome _enough to get a painting of myself?”

Her cheeks flushed as she avoided his gaze, pretending to fiddle with her saddlebag. “I wasn’t trying to suggest anything like that.”

“So you are saying that I _ am _handsome enough.” He grinned. He was enjoying this way too much. 

She humored him, smirking right back into his face as she climbed up into her saddle. “Well you certainly are a smooth talker more than anything, mister Seed.”

“Hmm? I could tell you more, if you’d like.” He was practically beaming right now. Smooth talker? He was way more than that. “Over a glass of wine, perhaps?”

_ Charmer _. They only met a couple of times before and yet here he was, shamelessly flirting with her… right under the metaphorical gaze of the Lord Almighty. “That sounds positively entertaining.” She admitted, still smiling as she leaned closer to him, dropping her voice ever so slightly. “But maybe we should have this conversation someplace else? Ideally not in front of a church?”

“I, oh…” He cleared his throat, shooting a gaze at the gate of the church, still open - Faith not really trying to hide the smile on her lips and Joseph with silent, yet somewhat adamant disapproval on his face. They couldn’t really hear every word the two of them uttered, yet their faces betrayed the notion they might have at least a somewhat slight idea. John composed himself just as quickly, lips formed in a mischievous smirk. “I certainly agree with that sentiment.”

“Maybe we can start with the business at hand.” She suggested.

“Of course. After you.” John climbed in the saddle and gestured for her to take the lead. She smiled ever so slightly and beckoned her mare into motion, as the two of them left for the plains, leaving the sad white facade of the church behind them.

* * *

The sun was quite high as they rode, the grass of the plains gently rolling with the wind as bees buzzed above their heads. They picked the much longer route, eluding the paths leading towards The Devil’s Point. John Seed didn’t appear as someone who would believe the ghastly rumors surrounding the place, but it was known that bandits and other… undesirable types took refuge among the abandoned buildings from time to time. Perhaps _ they _were the originators of all the superstition and folk tales to protect their territory. 

They talked as they rode, mostly with John breaking the silence - asking her about her art, what she enjoyed painting the most, where she got all her inspiration from. She answered, usually feeling not truly herself when around people, but there was something about him - his gentleman manners, his warm smiles or his damned honeyed tongue that made it easier for her to relax in his presence. It was a long time since she talked so casually with another person that wasn’t one of her friends.

“You should hold an art exhibit sometime.” He said at some point, their horses riding side by side. 

“I’m actually holding one soon.” She admitted. “I wanted to wait after the business with the ranch was resolved.”

“That’s understandable. Do you have a set date already?”

“Oh I…” She looked down suddenly. “I didn’t think you’d be interested in coming.”

“Why, I would _ love _to come.” He smiled at her. “Of course, if I’m not being way too imposing by practically inviting myself.”

She laughed but nodded. “I will let you know as soon as I will figure out the details.”

“Perfect.” His eyes beamed, though his gaze was fixed on the road ahead of them and the wooden fence running across the fields. “We are here.” He patted his black horse and the animal came to a halt.

The Ellsworth ranch could be quite beautiful were it not for the neglected state it found itself in. Deborah’s uncle wasn’t quite nurturing towards his property, though he did take an extremely good care of his horses - they were his passion, perhaps the _ only _ passion he had left. It was quite strange, however, because Aden Ellsworth wasn’t particularly poor - in fact, he left quite an outrageous sum of money for his nephew. He was a broken man, however, preferring the sole company of a whiskey bottle. He never married and had no children, the visits of his sister and her daughter the only consolation to his lonely existence. But, as his years went by, it almost looked like he _ preferred _ to be alone. He became silent, withdrawn, and had the beat-up look about him that suggested he _ wanted _to stay this way - closed off from the world because the world didn’t seem to understand him. Deborah always thought of her uncle to have a unique view of the world around him. He preferred the soothing call of the nature to the loud bustle of the town. Often wandered through the plains, and even into the valley, meditating between the pines. He told her about the things he had seen, he had heard - during warm summer evenings by the light of a candle - and she listened to him with keen interest.

Aden Ellsworth was ill, though he often talked about it as a blessing. His mind was opened to things other people could not easily see. Visions, fantastic landscapes blended through the world of the living, all seemed reachable and easily to grasp to him. When he gazed at the trees of the valley, he didn’t just see the trees. He saw the life flowing through the earth, the warmth of the sun, and heard whispers in the wind. He wasn’t an extraordinarily painter but he _ did _paint, in an attempt to capture his unique view of the world - and make it easy to see for others who didn’t have his gift. But his paintings gathered dust in the attic of the barn - the very same building where his body was found - as he grew increasingly terrified of the things he saw. He was a broken man in the end, trying to shut down his mind by the soothing liquor of a whiskey bottle.

He payed little to no mind to his property and the ranch soon fell into disrepair. The farm’s position in the plains, far away from the town and dangerously close to the Devil’s Point didn’t make Aden’s situation easier. Only a few workers from Hope’s Peak were willing to come work for him and with passing years, as the superstitions grew on intensity, Aden had to resolve into hiring people from afar who didn’t hear about any of the tales yet. Deborah remembered he had problems with some of those workers as well, groups of them leaving with each new rumour. It seemed that people believed the land of the Ellsworth ranch to be cursed and Deborah was the new owner now, supposed to restore it to its former glory again. 

A long, crooked fence run through the land - inside it, a couple of buildings that certainly saw better days. A long time ago. Green pastures seemed to be faring the best of the rest of the property, though they were fairly empty. The stables stood near, with only a handful of horses inside, all of them gazing at the newcomers with interest in their intelligent eyes. John had his own stable master take care of the animals right after Aden’s death, but he was already looking for a suitable replacement.

They tied their horses to the fence near an old barn and walked across the yard towards the main building. 

“I assume you are familiar with the ranch from your visits in the past.” John remarked and she nodded as they walked, inspecting the field grounds, the half-empty stables. A couple of small houses of the workers were huddled together in the back, with a little place between them, a single tree, and a couple of benches and flower pots scattered around.

The paved path through the yard was shadowed by tall figures of trees, though the garden in front of the house was painfully neglected and the fountain at the front running dry. Deborah carefully walked across wilted flowers with a shadow of regret on her face.

The main building of the ranch used to be a remarkable little mansion once. White facade was peeling off at some places and the front gate, however massive and intricately carved, was in desperate need of some attention. She was already imagining how a nice floral painting around it would liven the place up a bit. It was nevertheless an imposing building, perhaps small and cozy, but Deborah couldn’t avoid the thought that despite it all it had to be _ too _spacious for a person living in there alone. Especially someone with a mindstate as her uncle.

They walked through the halls and the lonely rooms with furniture neatly arranged in the place as it was when her uncle was still alive. All the workers left, she knew this. The murder was rumored to be so grizzly none of them withstood to stay at the ranch again.

She remembered the place to be always somewhat lonely, but now, when it was almost empty, with the memories of what happened there, it felt outright desperate. She couldn’t imagine how she was supposed to make it feel like home again.

“Some people believe it’s haunted.” John broke the silence as they walked through the main hallway, as if sensing what she was thinking about. “Only a rumour of course. I believe you can turn this place around in no time. Certainly with the money your uncle left you.”

“Not all problems can be solved with money.” She mused aloud, but quickly stopped herself and attempted a smile. “But thank you.”

“Of course. I will be here to help you. You can say your uncle made sure of that.” He let out a short laugh.

“Oh, you mean the agreement you signed with him before he died.”

“Yes. He wanted to make sure you have no problems setting in.” John paused, holding the door for her as they walked outside again. “He deemed it quite important, indeed. Or perhaps… he was expecting trouble.”

Her eyebrow arched. “Trouble? You mean with the rumors?”

“The ranch had some problems because of that, I admit.” He looked at her and smiled. “But I’m here to make sure that doesn’t happen again. I have ran a few establishments myself.” Then, as if realizing something: “Of course _ only _if you have me. It’s your land, after all.”

“Thank you. I welcome the help.” She let out a sad laugh. “To be honest I’m still quite lost in all this.”

He put a hand on her shoulder. “You will figure it out. Aden Ellsworth knew why he wanted you to have the ranch.” His smile was genuine and his eyes shone in the sun. “I’m sure you have what it takes.” 

“Thank you.” She said again, but her cheeks betrayed her as she lowered her gaze. John seemed amused by that as he let out a silent chuckle.

The only building they haven’t set their feet in yet was the old barn. Where it all happened. It stood silent in the calm midday sun, looking extremely ordinary to anyone who wouldn’t know anything about the murder that took place inside. The doors were pushed slightly ajar, as a half-opened mouth waiting to swallow anyone who would wander into its reach.

“That’s odd.” John remarked. “I remember the doors were locked the last time I was here.”

Deborah’s muscles tensed as she watched John reach for his belt, fingers brushing against the gun hanging from it. “Could be just an oversight.” He said, though he walked in front of her. “Best stay behind me, just in case.”

She followed him towards the doors, her mind swimming in adrenaline as he slowly pushed the wood aside, wandering inside the empty barn, illuminated by the ray of sun coming from the entrance.

The air smelled of a place that hasn’t been entered in a while - of memories, of age. The two of them walked through the floor, the wood cracking below their footsteps - was that a shadow she saw in the corner of her eye? No, she must have been mistaken.

The barn was empty. 

John let out a sigh of relief and laughed, all previous worries appearing silly now. “It’s nothing. I must check on the locks though, it seems as if--”

He didn’t get to finish his sentence, as something hurled itself out of the shadows at high speed.

Deborah screamed, feeling a tight grip of two arms - were they arms? - slamming her into the wall. A man, disheveled and distressed held her by her neck, painfully pressing on it, but not quite squeezing enough. 

“You have to leave!” He yelled. “YOU HAVE TO LEAVE AT ONCE!”

“Let her go!” John shouted. There was a glint of metal in his hand. “Let her go or it’s going to be be you who’ll leave. To Hell!”

Surprisingly, the man only laughed. With a pistol pressed to the back of his head, he only let out a pained chuckle. “Don’t you scare me with Hell. I’ve been to Hell. I’ve _ lived _it!” He continued on, staring into Deborah’s eyes, his face a grimace of anguish and pain. “All because of him! That foul demon! Aden Ellsworth!”

“He must be the one who killed your uncle!” John shouted, hand on the trigger. “Let her go at once you beast!”

“Go on then!” The man screamed, but his gaze was fixed on the young woman still. “SHOOT ME! Do it! Anything is better than living in this state!”

“Don’t dare me!”

“N-no!” Deborah managed to get through her gritted teeth. 

The man seemed to hear her and his grip loosened a bit. “This place… it’s cursed! It’s all _ his _doing! He’s a demon! He haunts my dreams! YOU will only bring more destruction on this land! Don’t follow in his footsteps! Don’t follow!”

“Who are you talking about?!” John yelled, growing more impatient. 

The man disregarded him. “I’m done for, oh yes, but you… The flies buzz around me all days and everyone knows they bring the message of death. But now…” He stared into her eyes, right through to her soul. “But now it’s your head they are flying around, not mine.”

After that, everything seemed to happen at once. She heard John shout the final warning, pressing the gun right at the back of the man’s head. That seemed to startle him, as she felt his grip around her tighten, sending her to claw at his hands with anguish in her eyes, and then the loud slam as the man fell to the floor, unconscious, hit by the blunt end of John’s weapon. 

She started coughing violently, strong shakes taking a hold of her as she threatened to slip on the floor, stopped only by John’s hands.

“Are you alright? Are you hurt?” She heard him ask in a worried tone as he steadied her, her own knees betraying her, though his words seemed to escape her as she stared at her attacker, sprawled on the floor, motionless, in the exact same spot where they found the dead body of Aden Ellsworth. 

* * *

The sheriff’s office identified the man as one of the workers at the ranch, some Robert Upton. Apparently he always had arguments with Aden Ellsworth before his death. After being asked whether he killed the man he only screamed that he regrets he couldn’t do it again. 

There was only one sentence for murderers. Deborah didn’t want to see the execution and she could walk only so fast through the main square where they erected the gallows, the noose swaying in the cool air with a terrifying certainty of things to come.

It was raining, a thunder rumbling in the instance, as if the mother nature itself wept for the man who died - and the man who was responsible. The cloud blackened the sky, a stark contrast to the sunlight of the morning. The town of Hope’s Peak always had more sunny days than the gloomy ones, justifying its name and earning its reputation of a small paradise. Nevertheless, it did rain in the valley from time to time. And as if by some magic - or a curse - every tragedy seemed to happen in the shadows of the black clouds. Could have been just superstition, but some people insisted that the rain was the result of an unpredictable force of nature. Sometimes a blessing during the drought, but more so - as was felt at the hearts of men that day - a bad omen.

John walked with her, offering to escort her home with the recent events wearing upon her. She looked to the ground, letting him take the lead pushing the people aside so they could walk freely. 

A commotion seemed to take place back behind them and then a man’s voice cut through the rousing crowd, screaming. Screaming at _ her _.

“Heed my words!” Yelled the man with the noose around his neck. A thunder rolled with his voice, carrying it with a terrifying presence of dread. “I don’t fear death! After what I’ve been through I know I should be only scared of the living!”

John saw the expression on her face and continued walking through the crowd, his head lowered, trying to shield himself from the rain. “Excuse me, could you… Move away!”

Deborah followed him, clutching the coat he lended her close, though her fingers were cold and there was no place she could go to escape the screams. “This land is cursed and you know it!” The man continued on and was met with a wave of shouts from the crowd, only silenced with another rumble from the sky. “There will be no peace for any of you until Ellsworth stands no more!”

She was practically running by this point, but after hearing the next words she stopped dead in her heels, paying no mind to the cold droplets of rain dripping from her clothes.

“You can run if you wish! Run and you will end up as him, just one more victim of the curse, of the horned devil that stalks the lands! I saw him! And you did too! Don’t believe me?! Feel free to dig below the earth then! See for your own eyes! Gaze Hell in the eyes as I did and pray to the gods of the deep to have mercy!”

He couldn’t say much more before the executioner ended his words with a swift kick to a wooden stool beneath the man’s feet - a sickening crack of the neck cutting through the air, twisting her stomach as she pressed her palms to her mouth trying to hide the scream. 

John pulled her by the hand to make her move but she couldn’t, paralyzed to the ground she stared in a shock to the sky, _ anywhere _else but at the lifeless body swinging in the air, as the dead man’s last words echoed through her mind with haunting shrillness: “Hear me!” He screamed. “I warn you again, for the last time, you who are bound by a dead man’s wish! I’m done for but he isn’t! I saw his ghost wander the plains! A burned man! I’m heading down to the flames of Hell but none of you are safe for hear my words as I say - he is not dead! He is not dead!”


	2. The Stars In Her Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the ranch slowly livening up again, Deborah is approached by a man with an unusual proposition. She holds and art exhibition later on, though the ceremony is cut short by a shocking revelation.

_ “Deborah Fawkes, the new owner of the Ellsworth ranch, will be holding an art exhibition in the Saloon Eden this Friday at 18.00. All townsfolk are welcome to immerse themselves in the floral imageries and picturesque sceneries of the natural landscapes both inspired by the areas around Hope’s Peak, as well as fantastical sceneries from the young artist’s mind. Mister Elliott Edwards, the owner of the saloon, has graciously lent the premises for the occasion.” _

— ‘Niece of Deceased Aden Ellsworth Holding An Art Exhibition In The Saloon This Friday’, Hope’s Peak Weekly

* * *

The sun was raised high as John rode, his proud black stallion, Emperor, maintaining a steady pace as the birds chirped in the green trees above their heads. His companion, one mister Felix Ross, a horsemaster back from South in his mid fifties with the telling eyes of somebody who has seen too much in his life, was set in a long, cheerful conversation with him. His tone did change slightly, however, as they climbed the hills of the valley and entered the plains leading towards the church and the Ellsworth ranch - their destination.

“I have to say, I’ve heard only the good things about young miss Deborah.” Ross said, squinting, as they rode right towards the shining sun. “Heard she turned the ranch around, despite all the rumors.”

John smiled to himself. “She has a very kind heart. Seemed natural to me.”

The older man waited with his reply as they passed a running stream, now riding side by side. “You must be proud of her.”

“Oh, me?” John seemed startled for a second. “Why would I be- I mean yes, of course, I guess I am.” He let out a short cough, adjusting himself in the saddle. “I am glad you decided to work at the ranch, after all.”

“I welcome the opportunity. It’s a long way from home, yeah, but I assume Hope’s Peak doesn’t have many talented horsemasters?”

“Yes, that is _ certainly _the reason.” John said quickly, looking at his companion with a reassuring smile. “I believe one needs to look way further these days when looking for such experienced men as yourself.”

The horsemaster laughed shortly. “I was warned against your honey words, mister Seed.”

John let out a smile, but said nothing further.

He didn’t mention anything about the true reason why he had been pressed to invite a horse master from such a far away town, as well as all the other farm hands he’d helped Deborah to hire. None of them really needed to know about all the ghastly rumors surrounding the land of the Ellsworth ranch. It was for the best, for their minds would be at ease and the stories were all tall tales spread by old women and fools anyway. There were no shadowy, horned figures stalking the ranch since the hanging of Robert Upton, and if the Devil ever walked upon the dirt there, it was a long time ago. But the rumors continued to swirl, getting more intense with each day, right under the shadow of the dead man and his murderer, now six feet under the ground. And yet some of the townsfolk had a feeling the story was far away from being finished. It was impossible to hire any workers from the town - something John warned Deborah against. But there were still a lot of honest folks from further in the country who were willing to travel such a long way for work - and their pockets were lined appropriately, just as well.

They arrived shortly at the ranch, finding it in much livelier state than that one, sad day still so fresh in his mind. A young farmhand greeted them and tied their horses to the fence as they walked across the yard, filled with blooming flowers. Deborah had a couple of bee houses near her garden, its inhabitants now buzzing in the air. A group of cows munched on the green grass of the fields and as John walked, he felt something fluffy and soft brush against his leg.

“Well, hello there!” He exclaimed, looking down at a big black cat, inspecting him with its striking yellow eyes. “Balthazar I presume?”

The cat let out a confirming meow and sniffed John’s lowered hand attentively, then rubbed its head against his palm, staying for a few quick scratches before lazily turning its attention elsewhere and running away.

“Are you an animal person?” Ross asked with a grin as they watched the cat running through the yard.

“More like a cat person, really.” John answered, smiling shortly. “Shall we continue? I will introduce you to the lady of the house.”

She had a soft voice as she sang, undisturbed and unaware of her audience. Deborah was deep at work and singing always helped her concentrate more. She had her hair tied back with a blue silk string, a hat shielding her from the sun. She was smiling, finally at peace, as her brush ran along the white facade of the building, in intricate lines. She was painting a peach tree around and above the entrance of the house. She had already re-painted the front door, the picket fences of the ranch and had a few workers start the renovation of the barn. The main building was repaired as well, and just in need of some final touches. She was ready to make the place her own. 

She heard the sound of footsteps, stopping at her song, but not breaking her smile and turning her gaze towards the visitors. “I apologize. I got carried away. How may I help you?”

“No need to apologize, miss.” The horse master said. “You have quite a pleasing voice.”

“Oh, you are way too kind, mister. I was singing just for myself, really.”

“Mister Ross is right.” John remarked with a smile, then gazed at her unfinished painting. “You are quite talented. And I see you are already making the place more lively.”

“I’m trying to, at least.” She agreed. “The walls were way too plain for my liking.”

“Well, I’m certainly looking forward to how you turn it around in time, miss.” Ross said.

“Oh, you must be the horse master I asked John to hire!” Deborah gasped, wiping her hands in a cloth so she could shake his hand. “I’m more than happy to meet you!”

“Felix Ross. The pleasure is all mine, miss.” 

“I assume you want to see the stables?” She asked, carefully placing her painting tools on a windowsill. “Please follow me.”

“I gotta say, I found it peculiar at first, getting all the way here, but I had no place left back at home.” Ross said as the three of them crossed the yard, walking towards the great wooden buildings at the edge of the ranch, spacious green pastures laying right behind them. “Left me son take care of the family ranch, he’s old enough, never wanted to be a nuisance in my old days. You know how it is, without a woman, I’m free to do as I please!” He said jokingly, but his eyes betrayed him, hinting at a far away past that still stung deep. “So I welcomed the offer. It really came at the right time. In fact…” He let out a short laugh. “It seemed all well planned. As if your man here knew when exactly to talk to me.”

“My.. my man?” Deborah blurted out, startled.

“Yes, mister John here.” The horsemaster tried to elaborate, visibly puzzled by her shocked reaction. “I assumed you two were married?”

Her gaze darted from the man’s face towards John who wasn’t really trying to hide the amusement from her confusion.“No, no, I’m Deborah _ Fawkes_, we are not married, John is just…” She looked at his face, red in her cheeks. “John is just helping me set the ranch up. He and my uncle had an agreement… Did John not mention this?”

“I did mention all that, I must have forgotten to mention your last name.” John clarified innocently. “We had a lot of business to discuss, it must have slipped my mind.”

“Well, I apologise for confusing you, miss.” The horsemaster said, feeling the sudden need to change the subject, looking all too pleased to realise they were standing right in front of the gate of the stables “Well, but we are here. Shall we get a look at the horses together?”

“Yes, please go ahead, we will follow you shortly!” Deborah answered as the man left towards the buildings, collecting her brushes and paint, then turning around to face John. 

“I’m sorry.” He said. “It was unintended. I did not realize the idea of being married to me would be so horrifying to you, though.”

She laughed, heading towards the stables. “Well I’m not answering _ that _.”

He followed right behind her, hands behind his back and a smirk on his face. “That’s not a no.” 

She turned on her heels, looking at him. “Are you seriously asking me to marry you right now?”

“I was only joking!” He laughed innocently, raising his hands above his head in defense. Then, when seeing her face, his voice dropped lower. “You seem really bothered by it, I apologize if I said anything to make you feel uncomfortable…”

“No, it’s just…” She interrupted him, looking down at her feet. “It wouldn’t be the first time somebody asked me to marry him out of the blue.”

“What do you mean?” John asked, a hint of worry on his face. “Did somebody propose to you lately?”

She put a stray strand of hair behind her ear, worrying her lip as if questioning whether to say anything further. “I- I didn't mean to talk about it. It's nothing serious. I believe we shouldn't keep our friend waiting?" 

She attempted her smile and John nodded, the two of them heading towards the big wooden gate of the stables, now open ajar. 

"I'll have to say, your uncle did know his horses!" The horse master remarked as they entered. "Fine animals these are, indeed."

"They were his biggest passion." Deborah said as she leaned in to pet an all-white mare, Snow White, the horse letting out soft noises of approval in return. "You could say they were his _ only _passion in his ending days."

“Well,” the horsemaster continued, deciding to ignore the slight drop in the mood, “they are certainly well-cared for and healthy. I believe I’ll prove to be a good help, miss Fawkes.”

“And I’m certainly looking forward to it.” She smiled, but then something - or someone - outside caught her eye and her gaze darkened. “John, can you please show mister Ross his quarters? I furnished them myself, I certainly hope you like flowers. I’m afraid I have some… business to attend to, I will see you shortly.”

He was a man in his early twenties, with a gaze still of a boy. Golden locks falling to his face showing off the confident smile of someone who always gets what they want in the end. He was leaning against a wooden cart filled to the brim with hay, and took off his hat in greeting as she approached.

“Deborah! I brought you some hay for the horses, thought it might make your work easier. Now that we are such good _ friends _.”

“It’s nice to see you, Samuel.” She lied, smiling. “But you shouldn’t have to worry about me.”

“Worry? Please! Now _ this _? It’s nothing. I’m glad to be of help.”

“Thank you. I appreciate it a lot.”

“Glad to hear it.” He beamed, smiling wide. “I assume we will get some folks to move this to the barn, eh? And in the meantime, could we have a talk?”

“Of course.” She said, still smiling, attempting to hide the worry in her face. “Would you like to sit in the garden?”  
“Works for me, lead away.”

They walked across stepping stones under the crowns of the trees to the garden. Deborah had quite a rich variety of plants on her hand, some of them already in bloom. An old fountain was now up and running again, with a couple of birds chirping nearby. She led her companion to a quiet place, a wooden bench nestled between two spruce trees, the fragrant smell of the needles mixing up with the sweet aroma of the flowers and the summer breeze. 

“What is it that you wanted to talk about?” She asked as they sat down but already sensing the answer.

“I believe that you know.” He brushed his hair, looking at her. “I don’t mean to pressure you in any way, but this uncertainty is becoming less bearable with each day. Tell me,” he whispered, putting a hand over her palm, “is there anything I can do to assuage your fears?”

She breathed in, the words seemingly stuck in her throat, as if they refused to be spoken. “I’m sorry but I… will _ not _marry you, Samuel.”

It all started when the news of her inheritance reached Hope’s Peak, though she would admit it gathered on intensity in the past few weeks. She knew Samuel Callahan, met him a few times around the town. He always seemed bright and friendly, all smiles and sweet words, it made sense he was the local favourite. He talked to her just a few days after John handed her the keys. Offered to help with the repairs. Lent men from his family farm to help her paint the barn and clean the yard from shrubs. Came back a few days later, claiming to know about good folk from deeper in the country who would be willing to work in the ranch. She hired them, they were decent people, dedicated. Helped her repaint the picket fence, clean the house and lent his cart when she went to the town to buy wood and tools for the repairs. Never really asked for anything in turn, just claimed he knew how hard a situation she found herself in and wanted to help. He didn’t pay heed to all the rumours and she was welcoming all the help she could get. They did talk, while working, sometimes after work too. About life at a farm, about life in general. About loneliness. Deborah wasn’t perfectly versed in the ways of flirting and it took her some time to realise Samuel Callahan wasn’t really looking forward just to the conversations. 

She has never been proposed to before. She never realised she would. Samuel was a friend, and a great help, never asking for anything in return. Well, maybe except for her hand in marriage. 

She said ‘no’ once already, though it was mostly because his proposition was so sudden and rushed. She barely knew him - that was her viewpoint, anyway. He saw it differently, professing his love to her during warm summer evenings. Was quite good with words, just as well, maybe a charmer to some, but he didn’t manage to shake Deborah’s whole world to the core as he intended. Yet she couldn’t help but blame herself upon seeing his face when turning him down. Despite that she was doing just that in that very moment. Was she really just a heartless and ungrateful woman below all that sweet façade?

He was quiet for a moment, making the fresh summer breeze feel just a tad bit chilly. “You know that folks in the town believe this place to be cursed. I don’t. It’s awfully hard to get help around here, but I already worked on a ranch like this. I _ know _how to run it. You are such an admirable strong woman, but you can’t expect to do this on your own.”

“I’m not doing this on my own.” She said. Then, in a much lower voice: “And I’m starting to believe you are only helping me because you want something in return.”

He barely moved as he spoke. “What was that now?”

She sighed. “Look, I greatly appreciate your help, Samuel. But I don’t _ feel _this way about you.”

His expression was pained, enough for her to actually believe him. “Think it through at least.”

“I _ did _think it through.” She shook her head. “I’m so sorry, I…”

He stayed silent for a while, the words she uttered hanging above them in the air. He nodded solemnly, eyes fixed on the ground. “I understand if it’s way too early for you. But you will soon see things more clearly. Let me know when you change your mind.”

They heard footsteps approaching and Samuel stood up, giving her one last long gaze. “I won’t keep you any longer. You can keep the cart.”

He walked away, bumping into John and stopping shortly to tip his hat towards him before continuing on his way.

The banker shot the young man a puzzled look, then joined Deborah on the bench.

“Samuel Callahan, huh? I see you’ve become fast _ friends _.”

“We are not.” She blurted out. “Or yes, we are… I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

She bit her lip, looked at him, then sighed. “He wants to marry me.”

“Oh, well…” John looked down at his feet, clearing his throat. “I’m no detective but from the looks of you I’d deduce the feeling is not mutual.”

“No.” She admitted.

“Did you tell him?”

“I did. But it’s not so easy.” She played with her hands, looking up into the branches of the spruce trees above their heads. “He’s been a great help and it feels like I’m… taking advantage of him. I always tried to turn down all his help, but he’s adamant.” 

John let out a sad smile, crossing hands behind his head and leaning against the tree trunk “Ain’t you the _ sweetest _thing.”

She looked at him, surprised. “What do you mean?”

He chuckled at her expression. “It’s just a turn of phrase. Now I don’t mean to be so blunt, but don’t you see he’s taking advantage of _ you _?”

She considered her words before answering. “I do, I’m not _ that _naive. He never spoke to me before he heard of the inheritance. But I don’t understand why would he care about some plot of land because his family is already rich and well-known.”

“That’s because you don’t know him. Or rather because he conveniently left out crucial information.” John continued on, giving her a pitying smile. “Samuel is the youngest son in the family, as you probably know. What you might not know is that he has quite a demanding father. All the other sons are rich as heels now. Thomas moved to Arizona, owns a huge portion of a land there, and James always had a good head for money, buying out a whole mining company down south. Only little Sam is left, and seems he hasn’t done much to appease his father as of yet. I should know,” he winked, “I take care of the family’s wealth and old man Callahan sure loves to talk. Now, purely hypothetically speaking, getting a hold of the Ellsworth ranch and turning it around would be a notable achievement that would earn Sam a place on the so-called family mantle with the rest of his brothers.”

Deborah bit her lower lip, thinking. “I had no idea about that.”

“Of course you didn’t. Why would he tell you after all?”

She frowned, looking away. “I mean I _ did _suspect he would have some ulterior motive, but this is quite… unsurprising.”

“Unsurprising?”

She regretted the words even before she uttered them aloud. “Wasn’t the first time people took advantage of me. Usually staying only so long as it suited them. Sam would probably get tired of me as well, after he’d get what he wanted.” She looked at him now, frustrated, already feeling way too shameful for letting him see her like that, but knowing that she no longer can keep quiet, a long past filled with disappointment feeling so fresh all of a sudden. “Is that what I’m _ good _ for?” Her voice was cold, unexpectedly cold for someone like her, making John wonder about what exactly could hurt her so much to make her talk that way out of a sudden. “Is that my purpose? To be used and discarded, like a toy that people no longer want to play with? Is that all I can get from life?” Her face twisted with resentment, forcing her to turn away from him. “Am I supposed to be _ thankful _for that?”

His gaze was solemn and his voice firm, but with a layer of softness underneath as he spoke. “No.” He laid his palm on the top of her shoulder, warm against her shaking skin. Reassuring. She leaned into his touch. “And I believe this is exactly what you should tell him.”

She looked into his eyes, trying to hide the sadness within. “I can’t…”

“What do you mean you can’t?”

Deborah clutched her hands together. “I don’t know, what if he tries to hold it against me, after everything he’s done and…”

“So what else are you going to do?” John let out a frustrated sigh. “Will you get married because you are way too afraid to say ‘no’? _ Debbie _…”

The way he said her name made her look up. She was silent for a while, then shook her head silently. “No… you are right. I shouldn’t be afraid to talk to him. I will make myself blatantly clear, for the last time, and it’s up to him how he takes it. I will start by sending him back the cart of hay, perhaps? Thomas is going back to town later today anyway, I could ask him… And I can write a note for Samuel too.”

“Good.” John smiled warmly. Looking at her hands for a while, as if wondering, waiting for permission - it sure felt as if a whole minute passed before he laid his palm over her hand. “I’m proud of you.”

Her eyes shone brightly in the midday sun, opened wide with surprise as if she couldn’t believe to have heard his words correctly. “Are you… _ proud _of me?”

He let out a soft chuckle, thinking back to his conversation with the horsemaster earlier on that day. “Yes. Yes, I guess I am.”

She batted her eyelashes, looking at her hands, at _ his _palm still brushing against her skin, trying to ignore the tell-tale warmth in her cheeks. John noticed. He smiled, just for himself.

“Will you be coming to the art exhibition in the evening?” She asked, trying to change the subject. “I would like to thank you for helping me with renting the saloon.”

“Of course.” He patted her on her palm reassuringly but couldn’t help to hide a grin. “As long as you will have me.”

She shook her head and laughed shortly. “You are quite a charmer, John. I would very much _ love _to have you there.”

“Quite?” He pretended to look offended, laying a palm across his chest. “_ Quite _ a charmer? I believe you don’t know me that much then, miss.”

She smirked right into his face, she was getting used to him quickly. “In that case I _ very _much look forward to getting to know you more.”

* * *

The saloon was lively that evening, though there was much of a different entertainment going on than usual. Tapestried walls were covered by Deborah’s paintings, replacing the usually well-known pieces. The young artist also had easels tidily arranged through the room and the upper floor, some of the paintings also leaning against the wall if there was no more space left. 

She was quite proud of her collection, though also undeniably and utterly _ nervous _. She had never hosted an art exhibit before, but was very much in need of the extra money. The fortune her uncle left her was well enough to cover the costs of starting up the new ranch, but she wasn’t keen on wasting all the money so soon. And, to be honest, hosting an art exhibit was also a lesson she meant to teach herself. She rarely presented her art in public, apart from her commissioned pieces, that is. Her mother always told her she should believe in herself more, and this was the first step.

Hopefully, she thought to herself while sipping on a fine red wine and smiling, it will go well. She has already answered a few questions about her work and also made a public speech about the motivation behind her paintings. Hell, she even managed to sell a few by now.

Deborah loved the nature, the flowers, the warm loving touch of the sun and always deemed it her biggest passion to capture these feelings on paper. Her vision of the world was hers and hers alone, in a way similar to her dear deceased uncle. “Nobody will ever see the world the same way you do,” he kept telling her. “Might as well capture it for others to see.”

Yes, she thought to herself as she walked through her own gallery, looking at the townspeople with interest in their eyes, each approving nod sending a shiver of accomplishment to her heart. She was wearing one of her best dresses, silk créme fabric feeling comfortable against her skin. It also helped with her confidence. She only hoped she did her vision of the world justice.

All the Seeds were present, after all, they have become more entangled in her life with the recent turn of events.

She has bumped into Jacob when climbing the stairs upwards - he was staring at one of her paintings, a whole bottle of whiskey in his hand, eyes studying the canvas with an apparent interest.

“I like this one the best.” He said when he heard her approaching, but didn’t break his gaze.

“Oh?” She smiled. “I had a feeling you might.”

It was a landscape painting of mountains - not any real mountains, just a scenery she imagined in her head. Pink sunset coloured tall spruce trees with a warm touch, rays of light illuminating narrow pathways through the forest grass. A wolf stood proudly in the left corner of the painting, not really in the center of the whole scenery, but that was on purpose - a lonely soul wandering the forest before night strucks the country - maybe a bit too frightening

feeling for a human, but definitely not for a wolf. When Deborah worked on it, a thought of the eldest of the Seed brothers did cross her mind once or twice and rightfully so, considering his way of life.

Jacob Seed was a bounty hunter. Discarded from the military service due to an eye injury, he took it upon himself to track down criminals and bring them to justice. A wolf that has been taught to bite can hardly be tamed and since he was raised to live by the gun, he just as well intended to die by it. Deborah knew this and while they weren’t particularly close, much to the fact that Jacob was away all the time and busy, she never thought any less of him. In fact, she tried to understand him, something not many people attempted. Deborah wasn’t really put off by his imposing presence, in fact she knew all too well that the hardest of the people usually had cared much in the beginning. 

Deborah watched his gaze with a warm smile. “Do you want it?”

“Oh no, thank you.” It was the first time he looked at her, revealing the eyepatch obstructing his eye. “I don’t have any space left for art.”

She didn’t waver underneath his stare. “Not space as in not a physical space in your home, or a space in your heart?”

He let out a dry chuckle. “Is this how you try to sell your paintings to people?”

“Sell it?” She laughed. “You are my best friend’s brother. I wanted to _ give _it to you.” 

“No.” His face was adamant. But she realised quickly it wasn’t because he wouldn’t want the painting at all. “I’ll not be taking advantage of anyone.”

“You are not taking advantage of me. It’s my painting, I can do whatever I want with it.”

Jacob smiled, but it was a sad picture. He took a sip from his bottle and then looked at her, face riddled with stories carefully buried. “You have a kind heart. It will kill you someday.”

Maybe she should’ve stayed quiet, but she couldn’t. “Well, at least I will die knowing I did the right thing. Isn’t that what we all want?”

He laughed shortly, bitterly. “If only life was that simple.”

She was about to reply when she was interrupted by Faith and Joseph walking up the stairs, deep in a conversation. When Deborah’s friend saw her, her eyes brightened up and pulled the young artist into a hug.

“I’m so happy you finally got to throw an art exhibit!” Faith exclaimed. “I didn’t have the chance to say so before, but I’m so proud of you!”

Deborah smiled and pulled her closer. She smelled of herbs and fresh flowers - a comforting scent, reminding her of her own home. “I wouldn’t be able to do it without your support.”

“I’ve also heard my brother John played a part in this.” Joseph said, a reserved smile on his lips. It was very unusual to see him in town and he often carried himself with a presence that suggested he doesn’t really belong there - whether that was out of humility or pride was left to be seen.

“Yes, that’s true.” Deborah answered as she pulled away from Faith gently. “He helped me with arranging the saloon for the occasion. I have to admit, he seemed quite enthusiastic about all this.” 

The preacher sported a knowing smile. “John has that effect on people.”

They were interrupted by the sound of footsteps and a well-known smooth voice. “Did I just hear my name?”

“Speaking of the devil…” Deborah chuckled, then realised the company she’s in. “Oh, I’m sorry I didn’t mean to…”

“That’s alright, my child.” Joseph answered reassuringly with a hint of smile on his lips.

“You were talking about _ me _?” John grinned, pleased with himself. He was wearing an elegant black suit with a vest and a burgundy velvet shirt underneath, a glass of wine in his hand, though his cheerful composure betrayed the fact this wasn’t his first that evening. 

“In all good spirits, I assure you.” Faith smiled.

“Perfect. May I have a word, Debbie? I was hoping to run into you but you seemed pretty busy with all the admirers.” He winked.

“Oh, I wouldn’t go that far.” She said. “And of course, I was hoping to talk to you too, actually.”

“Splendid! Over on the balcony, perhaps?” He was already rushing towards the door but then seemed to remember his manners and turned to their friends with an elegant smile. “Will you excuse us, please?” He didn’t wait much for their response though, as he already held the door open for her. Seemed he was pretty eager to talk to her - Deborah couldn’t help but wonder what might be the matter.

There wasn’t quite a similar thing as a summer evening. Not too warm or too cold, they seemed to take place in an entirely different world. It was a time of calmness, of silent conversations, of the sound of a group of people having a garden party and laughing in the distance. It was a time of meditation, of freedom, in a sense. It was a time one could have for themselves and yet making it enjoyable to share it in a small company, gazing at the stars, thinking about the day that passed. Wishing it would never end. It was soothing, calming and carried hope. It was a time when Deborah could truly breathe. When she felt her life was truly her own and that there were no obstacles she couldn’t overcome. She loved summer for all its glory, but there wasn’t anything her entire world that would ever compare to the summer evening.

She and John both leaned against the railing, gazing at the half-asleep town beneath them.

“Didn’t have the chance to congratulate you yet, that’s what I wanted to talk about.” He said, raising his glass with a smile. “I’m glad you decided to host this after all.”

She followed suit. “Thank you. I… wouldn’t be able to do this without your help.”

“Please,” he chuckled. “You would. You are an amazing artist.”

“Thank you.” She said again. “But it’s true you helped me a lot so far.”

He waved her remark away. “It’s my duty.”

“I know but… I wanted to give you something in return. So, and only if you want of course, but you are free to take any painting you find here. It would make me happy.”

John flashed a pleased grin, as if awaiting her proposition. “That’s perfect, because I already made my pick.”

She raised an eyebrow in surprise. “Really? Which one?”

He took a sip from his glass without as much as breaking eye contact. “The autoportrait that hangs in the upper hallway.”

If she was surprised before she was visibly startled now. “_ That _ one? But it’s just a portrait… it’s not even one of my better works. I thought you might take an interest in one of the landscape paintings perhaps…”

“That’s a generous offer and while all of them are lovely pieces,” he couldn’t help but smile, “I already made my choice. I really like how you captured the emotions on your face. It’s really _ beautiful _.”

She thought for a while. It was a decent painting, perhaps. Not really one of her favourites, but it had a distinct charm. She painted herself amids a garden of flowers, holding a bouquet in her hands and looking towards the sun. She looked hopeful, but it was that kind of a hope one could only get after living with a saddened heart.

“Thank you.” She said, looking away to hide her reddening cheeks. “It’s probably because I made myself look prettier than I actually am. You know how it is with us artists.”

He let out an elegant smile, fixing his gaze on her, as if comparing her visage to the one on the painting in his head, making sure he didn’t miss a detail. “Oh, it’s a perfect likeness, actually.”

“I, oh…” she blinked in surprise, suddenly unsure how to respond. “You mean that…”

“Perhaps I didn’t make myself clear.” He said, a tell-tale grin spreading on his face. It was more subtle now though and his eyes were soft. “I just said you are beautiful.”

Her cheeks were practically burning at that point. “Thank you… I mean you too look beauti-- h-handsome I mean!” _ God have mercy _. She quickly took a sip from her glass to hide her awkwardness. 

He chuckled, not out of malice, and laid a palm on her shoulder. “You are _ adorable _.”

She was able to collect her composure at least for a bit. “Well, you should stop calling me that or I will get smug this way.”

“Mhm, that so?” He said innocently, as he started running soft patterns along her arm. “That’s a risk I’m willing to take.”

He fell silent for a while, gazing at the starry sky then smiled, as if remembering something and took a drink from his glass. “This might be the booze talking, but it’s true that I’m glad I got to work with you at the ranch.” He looked at her, the stars in her eyes shining brightly. “I always hoped we could get to know each other better.”

Her gaze widened, as if unsure whether she is hearing correctly. “I too wanted to talk to you more, I just never could come up with a proper opportunity.”

He let out a short smile. “Well, isn’t that just the sweetest coincidence.”

She followed his gaze up to the sky, towards the stars shining in the dark. “They are quite pretty tonight.” She mused aloud.

“Hm? That over there is Polaris. She’s the first that appears at night.”

“Oh, I know. It marks where the North is, right?”

“That’s true. It’s actually the brightest star of the Little Dipper constellation, over there. See?” 

He continued talking, fingers bringing patterns to life as he kept pointing at the sky. Debbie interrupted him sometimes, asking about certain stars, listening to him with bated breath. 

“Now this you’ll like.” He said. “Down there. That’s Pegasus.”

“Where?” She asked, peering at the starry sky.

“Over there, just a little ways to the left. Here, let me show you.” He removed his palm from her shoulder so he could hug her across her back and pull her closer, flashing a suave grin at the sudden proximity they found themselves in. 

“Oh that? But I don’t really…”

“Look, those are the legs, that’s the neck and that is--”

“Oh! I see it now! Yes!”

She chuckled shortly and fell silent before turning her gaze towards him, realising he was watching her for a while now. Her voice was unsurprisingly warm. “This is really nice.”

“Mhm.” He hummed in agreement, gently caressing her arm. He was using quite an expensive cologne - naturally - and Deborah found herself resting her head on his shoulder.

They stayed like that for a while, enjoying the company of each other, the stars their only audience.

After some time John decided to break the silence. His voice was quiet, with a hint of previously unexpected softness. What he said next was just as surprising: “Would you allow me to break my gentlemanly ways for a minute?”

She raised her head, meeting his gaze. “What do you mean?”

He dropped his voice ever so slightly. “It wouldn’t be a manner worthy of a gentleman if I kissed you right now, would it?”

She looked at him with bated breath. “In that case, by all means _ don’t _be a gentleman.”

He smiled, one hand pulling her closer to his embrace, the other intertwining their fingers together. “As the lady wishes.” He whispered, gazing at her part-way opened lips, leaning closer to fulfill his promise.

The door to the balcony opened with a loud slam, sending the two of them to pull away from each other in surprise.

Joseph looked rugged and startled, though upon seeing them in such an intimate moment, his expression turned to outright ‘shocked’. “I apologise for disturbing, but there’s crisis back at the church and I need help.”

John didn’t try to hide how annoyed he was, being interrupted in such a delicate situation. He straightened his vest and flashed his brother an angry look, though his gaze softened a bit when he met his eyes. “I hope it’s something really important. Like somebody _ dying _.”

“Oh, quite the contrary.” Joseph explained. “They talk of ghosts and spectres…”

“What ghosts?!” John threw his hands in the air, raising his voice in frustration. “Joseph, be straight with me!”

The preacher shot a glance towards Deborah, as if wondering whether he should talk in front of her or not. He caved in, raised his head towards the ceiling and sighed before turning his gaze back towards them. “It’s about Aden Ellsworth. His grave is empty.”


	3. The Burned Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The local church becomes a place for some of the most unnatural occurrences and the heroes quickly find out that some things are hard to explain - and should be, maybe, left well alone in the dark. Later on, John and Deborah are able to get a quiet moment for themselves and he realizes something about his feelings towards the young artist.

_ “St. John-in-the-Plains was a target for strange stirrings the last Friday night. The grave of Aden Ellsworth, the deceased owner of the Ellsworth ranch, was found empty as reported by the gravekeeper’s assistant Elijah Roberts and a number of witnesses. Father Joseph Seed was seen rushing from the art show hosted at Eden to assess the situation. Roberts was interrogated, yet his reports were clearly affected by the state of shock he found himself in after his encounter with the assailant(s). Investigation is ongoing.” _

— ‘Grave Robbers At The Church’, Hope’s Peak Weekly

* * *

The night was dark, ink-blue skies illuminated by the glittering stars overlooking the world beneath them with blissful ignorance. The air was quiet, only interrupted by the buzzing of the insects in the tall grass and Joseph’s hurried explanations.

The group walked towards the church, the light of their lanterns shooting shadows towards the scattered graves of the cemetery, gravestones patiently peering at the sky as a group of loose teeth rising from the ground.

All seemed idle and quiet, chirping of the insects in the grass a calming sound. The land was sleeping, all the secrets hidden beneath the thick layers of soil, the warmth of the summer day still lingering through the night.

‘Seemed’ was an important word.

They found the gravekeeper’s assistant in the sacristy, leaning against a chair. The young man was in a sorry state. A red haired woman was tending to his wounds - severe, red burns across his arms - and raised her head to greet the newcomers.

“I see you brought help, father.” She said, her eyes turning soft as she gazed at Deborah. “As well as my _ daughter._ Gladly so, as this has just become a family matter.”

Mary Ann Fawkes was a woman in her late forties, carrying herself with an elegant presence and a determined look that softened at the edges ever so slightly, hinting at a past filled with hardship. She had a loving touch and a calming voice, making it no surprise that she was the local doctor.

“Perhaps and explanation of the situation would be in order,” she said with a hint of a smile in her voice, looking at the confused stares she was getting from the others. “A pair of witnesses found poor Elijah near the gravesite of my brother. I came as soon as I could and notified the father.”

“What of the grave?” John asked, a hint of worry on his face.

Missis Fawkes shook her head. “Empty, as you probably expected. No trace of the one who did it, too.”

Deborah looked at the young man, oozing blisters covering the skin of his upper arms. “You must be in great pain. Who did this to you?”

He let out a cough and raised his head for the first time, black circles under the eyes almost masking the terror in his face. “I don’t rightfully know. It all happened so fast! Like hell set loose on earth. I thought…” he paused, coughing violently. “I thought I was gonna die for sure.”

“My child,” Joseph’s voice was calm, focused, as was the way of the ordained men. He adjusted his glasses, looking at the man with patience in his eyes. “Might we ask you some questions? Perhaps if you started from the whole beginning we might understand better.”

Elijah sighed, as if the sole notion of the memory made him shudder, but nodded. “I was tending the graves, my shift was nearing its end. I was about to head home, just wanted to get a quick breather beforehand. I collected my equipment and locked it up in the shack at the end of the cemetery. I was just sipping from my whiskey bottle - and I know what you are all thinking but it was just one sip, I know what I saw!”

“Nobody is doubting your words,” Deborah said reassuringly. “Please continue.”

“So I hear the sound of footsteps and I turned around, ready to send that night-time lurker where they belong, then suddenly felt the most excruciating pain I could remember!” He shook his head, memories still too awfully fresh on his mind. “All I know he was tall, I didn’t see his face, it was dark, but he went for my soul like a beast, like the Devil himself! Just like that, I collapsed on the ground and blacked out.” He looked at his feet, voice quieter now. “When I came to he was gone.”

“Are you sure you don’t remember the attacker’s face?” Joseph pressed. “Anything at all?”

The young man shook his head. “It happened way too fast. I don’t know. And to be honest, I didn’t have the time to catch his features when he was out to kill me.” 

“Out to kill you? Do you have any idea what caused him to be so aggressive?”

Elijah let out a bitter laugh, then vinced. “‘Aggressive’ is putting it lightly, father. Madness, perhaps. Yeah, he had to be mad, to come at a stranger at night that way.”

“We don’t know if you were a stranger. Is there a chance it might have been someone you know? An enemy maybe?”

“An enemy?” Elijah raised an eyebrow. “Nah, father, I ain’t got no folks wishing me bad luck. Certainly not anyone who would want to kill me. I keep to myself, as you well know.”

“How did he manage to hurt you, anyway?” Jacob asked. He and Faith were silent until then.

The young man shook his head. “I’m sorry, I… he just.. he just _ touched _me.”

“_ Touched _ you?” Jacob didn’t try to hide the scepticism with a hint of amusement in his voice. “What did he have, hands that shoot fire?”

“I don’t know!” Elijah tried to throw his arms in the air in confusion, but then grimaced at the pain. “What are you implying? That I did this? To myself?!”

“I didn’t say you did it.” The bounty hunter said coldly then turned around to face Deborah. “We should get a look at the grave, might have some answers.”

“Yes, yes of course.” She nodded. “Follow me.”

“I’ll stay here with the young man.” Mary Ann said, carefully applying bandages to Elijah’s wounds. “And…” She raised her head to look at them. “Do be careful.”

* * *

What used to be the grave of Aden Ellsworth was now a gaping hole, the depths in the soil darker than the rest of the night. The earth around was quiet, yet there was always something disturbing about an open grave - a promise of it being _ filled _ was somewhat as much as perturbing as the notion that _ something _was missing. The empty coffin wasn't doing much to dispel the eerie atmosphere. 

Jacob knelt down, pressing a palm against the soil. "Two pairs of footprints. One must be of our shaken assistant." He raised his head, gazing towards the wooden fence at the edge of the cemetery and the small building standing just a few feet away. "Both lead towards the shack. They are evenly spaced so if we believe Elijah and his story about being scared to death by this attacker I assume these were quite some time apart from each other. That, or the two figures walked right side by side, steadily." He looked up at his audience. "That would suggest Elijah was lying." 

Faith shook her head firmly. "I believe him. He's an honest man."

The eldest Seed raised an eyebrow at that notion and turned towards Deborah. "Do you suspect graverobbers? The other graves are untouched, it would have to be someone who targeted your uncle’s grave specifically. Was he buried with anything valuable?"

She shook her head. "No, his only valuable possession was a golden watch and it was missing when they found the body. I suspect the murderer took it. Besides… why would they drag away the whole body?"

"Out of malice?" Joseph mused out loud. "Or superstition. You know the rumours people say about your uncle."

"Honestly, almost everybody from the village is a suspect." John said. "The whole town is afraid. Maybe enough to do something as sinful as this. Fear is a powerful master." 

Deborah sighed, but then something caught her eye.

"Jacob. You look like you haven't told us everything."

He blinked, letting out a short cough, then stood up. He shot a quick glance somewhere on the ground before answering.

"There's a sign of struggle here, near the edge of the grave." He pointed his fingers towards disturbed soil. "There's an outline of a pair of hands and over here it seems like somebody was climbing from the ground."

"Could be the thieves." John suggested. "They would have to get down first to take away the body."

"That's the thing." Jacob sighed, raised his lantern and stepped aside, fully illuminating the scene for others to see. A silence followed, as everybody watched with bated breath, unsure whether to believe their own eyes. 

"There's no trace of the body being dragged on the ground. Hell, there's no trace of it being even laid down in the soil near the grave." Jacob said. He paused, as if the whole notion of what he was about to say was against everything he ever believed. "There are no footprints leading towards the grave, only away from them. The other pair completely avoids it, the person never even stopped during their walk. It looks as if…" He closed his eyes and shook his head.

"As if someone walked out of the grave." Joseph finished, his well-composed tone somewhat making the realisation even creepier. 

"No." Jacob didn't hide his annoyance. "Dead bodies don't just walk around. There needs to be other explanation. There _ must _ be."

"To the shack then?" John asked.

Jacob nodded, already starting to walk towards the direction, barely waiting for others to follow. "Yes." 

The wooden building stood lonely and seemingly undisturbed by the recent events - nothing but a place for tools and knick knacks, as the group found out after peering through the windows. Truth is, they didn't need to enter, for all they needed to see was clearly revealed in the light of the lanterns, outside of the building. 

"There's the bottle of whiskey." John pointed out, the tip of his shoe dismissively clearing out the container out of the way. "Elijah must have dropped it as he got startled."

Jacob absentmindedly hummed in response, but his attention was turned elsewhere. Kneeling on the ground, lantern held over his head, he was gazing at a patch of disturbed soil, footprints pressed into the earth.

"Are those of the person who attacked Elijah?" Faith asked, bringing her lantern close, shadows dancing in the light, throwing eerie shapes into the night. 

"Yes." Jacob said, but his face was set in a deep frown. "The ground around here is scorched. It's more evident around the footprints. Their entire outlines appear as if they were set on fire. Yet they are evenly placed and… calculated, it doesn't appear as if the person… _ minded _being on fire." 

He turned his attention to the second pair of footprints. "These must belong to Elijah. He tried to run away, but didn't get far. Collapsed on the ground here. The attacker didn't follow. Whatever his intentions, he didn't intend to finish the boy off."

“So Elijah wasn’t lying.” Joseph said. “The man really attacked him with fire.”

Jacob’s stare was hard and focused, yet his eyes glinted with a shimmer of… doubt. He ignored his brother’s remark.

“Do we know where he went afterwards?” John asked.

Jacob brushed his hair and let out a short cough. “The footprints lead towards the shrubbery over here and then they disappear in the hard soil completely. So unless the attacker was quick enough to get away before our arrival, he’s…”

“Still around?” Faith’s voice was quiet but trembling with a hint of fear. The rest of the group responded with looks of concerned worry.

“Well, that’s probably highly unlikely,” Jacob pointed out, trying to calm everyone down. “I don’t see a reason why he would need to…”

He was interrupted by the rustling of leaves from the shrubbery at the edge of the cemetery. Tall trees swayed over their heads ominously, yet the wind was completely still. A pair of footsteps emerged from the quiet of the night, focused and firm, approaching them with the shrilling inevitability of the unknown crawling into the light of their lanterns. They illuminated the dark figure creeping from the distance, yet it was left to be seen whether some things shouldn’t be left in the dark instead. As far as the witnesses would recollect later on, it was the latter. 

The man was of an average size, clad in a long black coat, ragged and burned as the rest of his clothes and - as they shockingly realised - his whole body. He was wearing a hat obscuring his face. His silhouette was pitch black and stayed as such even when it was hit by the light of the lanterns, as if he was made out of shadows. Sparks of fire illuminated his shoes, leaving scorch marks in the soil as he walked. 

He didn’t talk. Didn’t have to, as his intents were seemingly clear. Crossing the cemetery, he approached the group slowly but inevitably.

He was only a few feet apart when Jacob raised his revolver. 

“Hold there! We know what you did. One step closer and I won’t hesitate to shoot!”

The man didn’t seem to pay him no mind as he continued to walk, unabated by his threats. 

Jacob held the weapon firmly, as was the custom of someone raised by the gun. “I’m serious!”

It was almost as if the figure mocked him, dared him. Never as much as breaking his pace, he continued on, as if his whole body called to be shot. _ Begged _.

Deafening shot cut through the night as the revolver fired, hitting the man right into his lower leg. Jacob didn’t miss - he never did.

No sound escaped the figure’s lips as he stumbled backward. He didn’t scream in agony, he didn’t clasp his leg to stop the bleeding. 

For there was no blood. A number of sparks flew through the wound, closing it completely and then disappearing in the night air. The man didn’t even stop.

“Into the church.” Jacob said, his voice firm, but trembling at the edges. “NOW!”

They obeyed him, breaking into the run towards the church gates. The burned man didn’t change his pace, continuing to follow them steadily with the certainty of a predator closing on its prey one way or another. Somewhat that was even more terrifying than if he ran. 

They locked the big wooden gate behind them, the creaking wood promising a somewhat uncertain sense of safety. 

Joseph straightened his vest and readjusted his glasses. “To the sacristy.”

They followed him, putting additional set of doors between them and the attackers. 

Mary Ann and Elijah were still inside, the woman shooting them a wide-eyed gaze. “What in blazes is going on!?”

Elijah answered sooner than anybody else could, eyes looking at the ground, body trembling. “It’s _ him_. He’s here.”

Joseph and John moved a few chairs to barricade the entrance while Jacob leaned against the wall, knocking out bullets from his revolver into his palm, then replacing them with different ones from a small box hidden in his coat. He gave the cylinder a spin, then put the weapon back into his holster. 

“What are you doing?” John asked hurryingly. “Do you think this is the right time to--”

He yelled as he was hit by an impact from the other side of the doors. The wood came apart with a loud crack, sending the chairs flying and the two Seed brothers fell on the ground. The edges of the doors bore scorch marks and a few sparks flew through the air, but quickly disappeared. Amidst the chaos, a pair of footprints continued in its pursuit.

Strangely, the man seemed to focus his attention towards Deborah and her mother, standing in the corner. He approached them slowly, raising his arm in an unknown gesture.

Before he could do anything else, Mary Ann grabbed a tall silver chandelier, swinging it at the figure with an unexpected strength, hitting the man straight across his chest. “Not my daughter, you _ monster _!” She screamed. 

To the surprise of everyone in the room, the man stumbled backwards, clutching his gut and letting out a sound that could almost pass as a grunt of pain. He knelt down, paralyzed, unable to move for a second. The group stared at the sight with an unspoken shock on their faces, until Jacob’s voice cut once again through the silence. “Out! OUT!”

They fled through the main aisle of the church, through the main gate, destroyed, just as the doors of the sacristy - wooden splinters laying on the ground, charred and burned, but nothing else caught fire. 

They found themselves back in the fresh air of the night breeze, but no sooner than they stepped a few feet away from the church they heard the ominous sound of the footsteps again. 

The man didn’t seem to pay notice to anyone else than Mary Ann and her daughter, approaching them slowly, yet as if with an intent on his face - if it was possible to see it. If it was more than a pitch black shadow darker than the night itself. Deborah stared at the apparition until her mother beckoned her to run, though the graveyard again. Her lungs burned with pain from the effort, yet there was a question that troubled her even more than everything else she has seen so far - was that man, that… creature… her _ uncle _?

And as she came to a stop near the edge of the cliff, out of options and ways to go, turning back at the shadow-clad figure, only then to witness his _ eyes _\- two small spectres of glowing light emanating from the shadows of his face - the answer was clear on her mind. 

It felt as if Mary Ann knew too - hand firm on the palm of her daughter, faze unabated and without a trace of fear, something she had learned the hard way. 

“Leave them be!” John’s voice cut through the night in a way that made her heart jump. 

He was staring at the creature, black coat swaying in the night breeze, eyes set with the type of anger that comes from either unquestioned courage or reckless impulsivity. Or maybe both.

The burned man turned towards John slowly, setting his hat deeper into his face. He reached under his coat, towards the belt where a weapon should be hanging, but instead of a revolver in his hand, sparks of fire started dancing around his scorched fingers, bright in the night and dangerously close to the banker’s face.

Deborah didn’t know what happened first, her screaming “no!” or how her body sprung into motion, without thinking, as if coming from deep inside her heart. She grabbed the man by the back of his coat, forcing him to turn away, with a strength she wasn’t aware of having. She met his eyes for a second, forcing herself to stare into the pale white orbs shining in the dark though its light was cold, before an excruciating pain cut through her forearm as the man grabbed her with his flaming fingers and pushed aside. 

She screamed, the world dancing in nauseating circles in front of her eyes as she collapsed, caught only by the arms of her mother, gaze darkening. 

The creature continued walking towards them, hands outstretched and blazing with fire. Then, a shot broke through the night, the strength of the impact hitting the man right into his chest. Sparks of fire flew through the wound just as before, yet this time, it stayed opened and flaming. The creature clasped it with its hands, looking down at its chest as if unsure of what was happening. Only then the figure staggered, turning away with visible effort to gaze its attacker face to face.

Jacob’s gun was smoking, his face stern and focused. 

The burned man attempted to walk forward and the bounty hunter fired again. The creature let out a blood boiling scream as its body shuddered with the impact. It stumbled backwards, feet dangling at the edge of the cliffs before they gave way, stepping into the emptiness. The body fell down, the black ragged cloak swaying in the wind, and disappeared in between the dark rocks at the bottom of the cliff.

A silence followed, the group catched its breath in the night breeze, the land serene once again, as if nothing happened. 

John wiped his forehead with the back of his hand and turned towards Jacob. “How did you do that?”

Jacob knocked his revolver back into the holster. “Silver bullets.”

“Silver bullets? Like for werewolves and whatnot?” John raised an eyebrow. “I thought you didn’t believe all those tales.”

“I didn’t.” Jacob said. “But a friend does. She gave these rounds to me.”

“A friend? You said you didn’t like the company of other bounty hunters.”

“I didn’t.” Jacob repeated, his gaze fixed at the bottom of the cliff shrouded in darkness. “Until now.”

* * *

She was walking through an isle of an abandoned church, her forearm blazing with fire. Deborah looked down at the wound, now covered in flames, but they didn’t hurt - their strange warmth felt comfortable in a way. Was that the reason she was seeing all this, the reason she was in this unusual place? Was all of that some strange vision or her slipping consciousness, blurred with the pain, playing tricks on her mind? 

_ Whatever the answer_, she thought as she walked - her footsteps echoing through the silence with the shrilling noise of a gunshot - _ if this is reality, I would rather welcome the soothing emptiness of sleep. _

The air was still, carrying the scent of a place that hasn’t been entered for a very long time. The white walls were cracked and dirty, the altar showing signs of neglect. Nobody has been giving sermon here in ages.

Yet the church wasn’t empty.

The figures sitting in the pews didn’t pay her no mind. Silent, shrouded under long white sheets, staring somewhere at the altar - or _ beyond _it, silent ghosts caught up in a wordless prayer. 

With bated breath, she approached one of them, trying to look underneath the linen, her curiosity stronger than her fear. She reached with her fingers to touch the fabric and lift it up, but quickly removed them afterwards as she felt the cold breath of the figure on her skin.

There was nothing under the white sheets.

* * *

Deborah woke up with a start, the pain burning in her arm reminding her that this indeed was reality.

She was lying in a massive wooden bed, silk sheets feeling comfortable on her skin. She stared at the intricate wooden ceiling above her head, puzzled.

“Where-- what happened?”

“You are at my house, in a guest room.” John answered with a smile, sitting on a chair on her right. “I trust you didn’t forget how it looks like?”

“Oh--” She rubbed her forehead with her healthy arm. “How long was I out?”

“An hour at best.” Mary Ann said, dressing her wound. Faith was sitting near her, holding a bowl of hot water. “That was quite a brave thing you did, my dear.” Her mother’s eyes warmed up. “Brave, but also stupid. Not that I’m surprised, though.”

Deborah winced with pain as her mother started to wrap a bandage around her arm. “Are you angry with me?”

“Angry?” Mary Ann chuckled. “You are my _ daughter _. I was worried for you.”

Deborah bit her lip. “I’m sorry for worrying everyone.”

“Nonsense. We are just glad you are better.” Faith smiled, laying a palm on her shoulder. 

The young artist smiled, then realised the absence of others in the room. “Where is Joseph and Jacob?”

“Joseph is back at the church,” Mary Ann answered. “Trying to assess the damage. And Jacob hurried off to some colleague of his, to discuss what happened to us.”

“I’ve told him to get some rest first, but he didn’t listen.” Faith said with a sad face. “You know how he is.”

“Are _ we _going to talk about what happened?” Deborah asked.

“Maybe.” Mary Ann said, finishing up her work and then nodding approvingly. “But I’m one tired woman. Ghosts or spectres, or whatever they are, if they want something with me, they have to wait until I get some sleep. Now, the bandages need to be changed at least three times a day, I will leave all you need here. Come see me later on.” She laid a palm on the top of Deborah’s head, eyes warm. “And please, take care.”

“I’ve also left a soothing syrup on the bedside table for you,” Faith said, smiling reassuringly. “To help with the pain. I made it myself.”

“Thank you all.” Deborah said, face beaming with gratitude. 

“Now, we’ll be off.” Mary Ann said, grabbing her hat. Faith stood up as well, setting the bowl on the bedside table. “You two look like you have something to discuss anyway. But remember, you need some rest. We’ve all had a very… long day.”

“Yes.” John agreed. “Goodbye madame Fawkes.”

“We’ll talk later.” Faith said, and the two of them left, closing the door behind them.

The room was quiet for a while until John decided to speak. “Does it hurt a lot?” His voice was flavoured with concern.

Deborah nodded, wincing. “It’s not exactly pleasant, yes.”

“Do you want me to hand you the syrup?”

“Oh, that’s okay, I can do it myself--”

He put a hand on her shoulder, stopping her. “It’s the least I can do.” He reached for the bedside table, taking the flask with clear liquid inside in his one hand and a spoon in the other. Deborah sat up, soft pillows pressing into her back. John opened up the bottle and poured the syrup into the spoon, filling the room with a distinct smell of herbs.

Faith was known for brewing all sorts of concoctions and home-made medicine. It was way more effective than the knack elixirs people sold at medicine shows and she was handing it out to her friends for free. 

“Now, open up.” John said with a chuckle, not hiding the amusement over the situation.

She obeyed, the strong taste of herbs laced with alcohol on her tongue, his blue eyes intently watching her. 

“Why did you do it?” 

She waited for him to set aside the spoon and the bottle of syrup back on the table. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“That’s not an answer now, is it?”

She watched him for a while. “I didn’t want you to get hurt.”

His face beamed, but it bore a sad smile, as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing was true. As if he didn’t really believe he deserved such an answer in the first place. He looked down at his hands, trying to hide the emotions in his face, then raised his head to gaze into her eyes. “Thank you.”

She smiled warmly. “Of course. Everyone would do the same.”

John chuckled. She was so _ innocent _ , it was adorable, really. “Not _ everyone _.” He frowned, voice heavy with concern. “I’m just sorry you have to suffer because of me.”

She put a palm on top of his hand, her touch warm and soft on his skin. Her voice was quiet and sincere. “I would do it again, you know?”

He squeezed her hand gently, intertwining their fingers together. “You must not.”

She waited with her reply for a while, looking into his eyes, the worry still clear in his gaze. No, _ guilt _. 

She bit her lip, as if the words she wanted to utter got stuck in her throat and she had to muster all her courage to let them out. “Are we… going to talk about what happened at the art show?”

His gaze shifted, avoiding her eyes for a second. “I… am sorry.”

“What for?”

He held her hand, rubbing her skin with his thumb gently. As if to reassure her, or to make his next words more bearable. “I shouldn’t be so forward. It was reckless of me, I should’ve controlled myself more.”   
He paused for a second, almost wondering whether he actually said that out loud. Him? Regretting he was way too forward? His past self must have been laughing so bitterly at him right then. He didn’t care much about the feelings of the people he used to get… very _ close _to before. It was fine, they didn’t care either. Why was this different? Was it because she was hurt because of him and he felt pity? Nonsense, he didn’t do things out of pity. 

She looked at him, blue eyes wide open. “You know I didn’t mind that.”

“I know, I just…” He brushed his hair, looked down, then sighed. Raised his gaze again to meet her eyes, opened up his mouth to speak and then… he couldn’t. That’s when he knew.

“I don’t want _ you _to get hurt.” He said, repeating her own words, and it felt so true in his heart. So true, yet it filled him with unexpected sadness. He didn’t want her to get hurt. But that only had to mean one thing. One sacrifice from him he was able to keep, on one hand, but one that made his heart sink down so unusually low. Was he scared? Of the pain? He never felt this way.

She chuckled, pointing at her arm. “I already _ am _hurt.”

He realised he was still holding her hand. He didn’t let go. “That’s the thing. You already got hurt because of me.”

“And I told you I would do it again. It was _ my _decision, stop blaming yourself for it.” She said but immediately realised it wouldn’t be just as simple. No, there was something about him that made the guilt cling to his soul. She wondered what could it be. But then, not that she herself was any different. Maybe that was the reason they got along so well.

His touch was warm, reassuring, almost hiding the shadow in his eyes and Deborah was unsure at that point whether she was holding onto him or he onto her. “The most important thing right now is that you will get better. We will talk about…” he paused, looking for the right word, then gesturing vaguely in the air, “about _ everything _later.”

“Alright.” She nodded, attempting a smile. “I guess I should get going then?”   
She started to get out of the bed but was interrupted by his gentle pull on her hand. “Or you can stay the night. If you want to, of course.” He added. 

She bit her lip. “I don’t want to overstay my welcome.”

“Please,” he smiled. “You are _ always _welcome here.”

“Aren’t you afraid of the rumors this could bring?”

He let out a short chuckle. “Oh _ dear _, trust me, I’m used to all kinds of rumors.”

“Oh?” She raised an eyebrow. “For example?”

“In _ this _town?” 

“Oh right.” She grinned. “_ Touchè _.” 

He sported a suave smile. “Is that a ‘yes’ then?”

“Hmm…” She tilted her head pretending to be thinking hard just to make fun of him, but couldn’t help breaking into a giggle. “Alright, alright, I will stay then.”

Why was he so happy to hear that? He could swear his entire face beamed. “Splendid then!”

She smiled, but winced, remembering the pain. She looked at him for a while, biting her lower lip, almost too shy to even ask him to--

“Would you mind staying with me for a while?” She quickly avoided his gaze. “Until I fall asleep, I mean? O-only if it’s not a problem of course!”

He let out a small chuckle, hand still drawing gentle patterns across the skin of her palm. “It’s the least I can do.”

“Thank you.” She said softly, then slowly withdrew her hand from his, an action that made him flash her a confused look. “I will just go and freshen up.” She explained, bare feet hitting the wooden floor as she crossed the room. “I won’t take long.”

* * *

She returned a few minutes later to find him comfortably sprawled on the bed, a book in his hand, the upper part of his shirt casually unbuttoned. 

Deborah was still wearing her evening gown, a fact she just realised. She stood there for a while, uncertain.

John raised his gaze from the book, intrigued. “Are you going to sleep in that dress?”

“Well,” she grinned, throwing her hands in the air, “trust me, if I knew this would happen, I would pack my nightgown. But alas-”

“That can be hardly comfortable.” He said, a tell-tale grin spreading on his face. “Come, _ I promise _ I won’t look.” His eyes glinted with mischief. “ _ Maybe _.”

She smirked right back at him but decided to humour him. He raised the book right up in front of his eyes theatrically, then layed down, resting it on top of his face as if he fell asleep reading. Deborah chuckled at his behaviour, then turned her back towards him and started to remove her clothes. The silk fabric slid down her body with ease, leaving her in her underwear. She gathered the dress in her arms and folded it over a chair in the corner of the room, then turned around, feeling his gaze on her. 

“You _ are _ looking.”

He smiled at her, utterly without shame, one hand lifting the book over his eyes. “I did say ‘maybe’.” Then, with the innocence of an angel in his voice: “I couldn’t help it. You are beautiful.”

She smiled, her burning cheeks almost masking the flaming pain in her forearm. “Thank you.”

She snuggled close to him, sliding underneath the sheets. “What are you reading?”

“Oh this? It’s one of the old adventure novels. About a fabled city down South. It was laying around here so I grabbed it to pass the time.” He showed her the cover and her eyes beamed with recognition.

“Oh I know this one! Uncle used to love stories like this, he had a huge library back at the ranch.”

“Do you want me to read it?”

“Yes, please.”

“As the lady wishes,” he said with a grin, one arm pulling her closer and hugging her across her shoulder as she rested her head against his chest. “Are you comfortable?”

“Mhm.” She hummed approvingly and nodded. 

John settled the book against his knees so it would be easier for him to turn the pages with a single hand and started reading.

Deborah knew the story, yet she always enjoyed hearing it. There was a fabled city somewhere deep South in the states, hidden in a valley obscured from the world by hills and thick forests. It was vast and intricate, narrow streets and wide paths alike divided by running rivers and lakes - a refuge for anyone wishing to shield themselves from the outside world. The story followed the fate of a man wishing to find the entrance to the city, for he believed all the legends circling around it and was certain of its existence. After many adventures and obstacles he succeeded, though what he found in the hidden city was vastly different from what he expected. He was looking for a fabled haven of outcasts, legendary bounty hunters and adventurers, as the legends described it. What he found were half-dead souls, not alive and not dead, as if stricken by a curse, going about their lives almost as mortals, yet the inevitable infinity of an immortal existence was weighing on them heavily. The hero quickly found out that the rumours about the city were false, or at least partially. It _ was _a place for people who wanted to be hidden from the outside world, but that was because they didn’t have a choice. They weren’t accepted anymore - they came to the city to die, or to hide the fact that they couldn’t, living out their unending existence and praying for the sweet touch of death to finally catch up with them.

John’s voice was pleasant to listen to, soothing, and Deborah soon found it hard to keep her eyes open. 

He noticed too after a while, gently caressing her shoulder and leaning closer to whisper: “Seems to me I either bore you or you are quite tired.”

“You don’t bore me.” She murmured, smiling at him. “You have a nice voice.”

“Thank you. But perhaps we should continue this some other time? We should get some rest.”

She yawned lazily, John watching her with affection in his eyes. “I agree.”

“Here, let me help you.” He set the book aside, waited for Deborah to lay down, then tucked her in, making sure she was warm and comfortable. He snuffed the candle on the bedside table then snuggled next to her. He hugged her from behind, one arm pulling her closer in a warm embrace, the other finding her palm, intertwining their fingers together. He rested his head in the crook of her neck and laid a gentle kiss on her skin, getting a soft hum of approval out of her.

“Are you warm? How are you feeling? Is the syrup working?”

“Yes.” She said, voice laced with tiredness. “You are helping as well.”

“Will you promise me something?” He said after a while, managing to fight off the urge to sleep for a minute.

She felt so warm in his arms, so soft. “Hm?”

“You will never put yourself in danger because of me again.”

She was quiet for a moment before answering. “I can’t promise you that.”

He sighed. “I don’t deserve it.”

She turned around to face him, fingers brushing gently against his cheek. “It’s not about whether you deserve it. I wish you could understand that.” Then, quietly: “Goodnight, John.”

“Goodnight.” He wanted to say something more to that, but couldn’t find the right words. Instead, he let the comforting presence of sleep overcome him, pulling her closer, finding comfort in the warmth of her body pressed against his. But a quick thought did flash through his mind before he fully closed his eyes, pondering over her words. ‘It’s not about whether you deserve it’ - he realised then, that even if it was a complete stranger standing there instead of him, she would do the same, jumping to their rescue - for a person she didn’t know at all and might never see again. For that was the kind of a woman she was.


	4. The Pale Rider

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Deborah are contacted by a new friend and they quickly learn that what happened to them could be just one part of a long chain of unexplainable events.  
— (the character of Rose Dravić belongs to a dear friend from tumblr @fantasmagoriam)

_ “A woman who wishes to remain anonymous reported sighting a mysterious man near the cliffs under St. John-in-the-Plains yesterday morning. He crossed her path on her way into town, heading the opposite direction, deeper into the Wolfsbane valley. She said he didn’t respond to her queries, seemingly paying her no attention, almost bumping into her. When asked about his features, she hesitated for a second, suddenly unable to remember how exactly he looked like. When turning away after a few minutes she reported that the man disappeared completely from the road. Could be he hid in the forest near the Devil’s Point, yet the witness claims that would mean he would have to run at full speed to reach it in time and she heard no footsteps. Local authorities speculate, if true, it could be one of the grave robbers responsible for unrest in the local church. Citizens should avoid approaching the surrounding areas of the cliffs - and Devil’s Point - or at least exercise caution when nearby.” _

— ‘Strange Man Near The Cliffs: Witness Claims’ in Hope’s Peak Weekly

(underneath, scrawled with a shaky hand: _ They will print anything these days, won’t they? _)

* * *

Deborah woke to the gentle touch of sunlight on her skin. She let out a quiet hum, opening her eyes slowly, finding herself in the warm embrace of the two arms holding her close. 

John was already awake, watching her trying to shake off the sleepiness. “Good morning.” He said with a smile, fingers running gently across her arm.

“Good morning.” She hummed in response, resting her head on his chest, his beating heart a reassuring rhythm.

“Did you sleep well? How are you feeling?”

She raised her gaze so she could look into his eyes warmed up with an unusual softness. “Yes, I did. Though I’ve been thinking about what happened yesterday.”

She supported herself on her elbows, straddling him as she sat up. He couldn’t help but to flash a pleased grin at that, arms moving upwards to gently caress her thighs. 

“I mean,” she continued, gesturing with her arms slightly as she spoke, “for a split second I almost thought it was all a dream. But then I remembered… I still can’t make heads nor tails of it.”

“You are not alone in that.”

She bit her lower lip, studying his face as in order to find a bit of doubt under the unwavering gaze of those blue eyes. “Do you… do you think it’s resolved for now?”

John supported his head with his hand, thinking for a while. “I mean, we did see him get shot and fall off a cliff. But since we did see some pretty crazy stuff yesterday I wouldn’t be surprised if that wasn’t the last time we saw the man.” He noticed her worried face and then quickly added: “I’m sorry, that wasn’t really reassuring.” 

“It’s okay.” She said. “I wasn’t looking for reassurance. To be honest, I do feel… strange.” She flashed him a quick look as if worried he might think of her badly. “I had this… dream yesterday… I-I know, it’s just a dream and doesn’t mean anything but...” She threw her arms up in frustration, then stopped, still looking at him with a hint of doubt.

He must have sensed her worry as he gently held her hand. “Please, continue.”

Seeing the genuine interest in his eyes, she continued with more ease. “I just… after everything we’ve seen I worry this is not the end of it. Maybe I am wrong, I certainly hope I am wrong. Maybe I’m just too shaken from it all…” She looked at her hand, the pain slowly waking up from slumber, starting the remind her of what she’s been through. “But then I look at my arm and… I know it really happened.”

She bit her lip, looking at him. “What if… what if all of the townsfolk is right? What if the ranch really _ is _ cursed?”

He squeezed her healthy hand. “Did anything bad happen at the ranch since you moved there, Debbie? Anything strange at all?”

She shook her head. “No, nothing I know of. It was all so peaceful and I felt so happy when the renovation started to take place. All I ever did was wanting to make my uncle proud.”

John smiled. “I think he’d be proud all right. You are doing great, dear.”

She blushed ever so slightly, looking down for a second. “So… you don’t think I’m just crazy? Talking nonsense and such?”

He cupped her cheek, bringing her face closer to him. “You are _ not _crazy.”

She leaned into his touch, closing her eyes for a second before gazing back at him. “Thank you.”

She looked down at her hand again, starting to unwrap her bandages. “I should probably take care of this.”

“Please,” he laid a palm atop her arm, stopping her. “Let me do it.”

“Are you sure?” She raised an eyebrow. “You don’t have to, I can do it with my healthy hand just fine.”

“It’s the least I can do.” She wanted to move away from him to get the balm from the side table, but he stopped her, briefly cupping her ass, a mischievous grin on his face. “Just stay still and let me do _ all _the work. You are in my hands now, my lady.”

She let out a giggle, stretching her arm out so he could unwrap the bandages. “Well, you certainly have a way with words.”

“It’s one of my many talents,” he grinned, “among _ other _things.” He said, winking at her.

Deborah let out a laugh then stopped as John retrieved the balm, slowly spreading it on her wound with his index finger.

“Does it hurt much? Tell me if you want me to be more gentle.”

She shivered under his touch. Maybe it was the pain, maybe something else. “You are perfectly gentle so far, thank you.”

“Uhm.” He hummed in response, bringing up fresh bandages from the bedside table, wrapping them around her hand. He felt her gaze upon him as he worked, shooting her a quick glance as a smile spread on his lips. “Now, all done. Is it okay? Not too tight, I hope.”

“It’s fine.” She said with warmth in her eyes. “Thank you for caring about me.”

“As I said...”

“It’s the least you can do, yes, yes, I know!” She interrupted him, giggling, trying to hide the flaming pain in her arm. Somehow, being around him helped. He certainly distracted her well enough.

She looked away for a moment before meeting his eyes again. “Thank you for letting me stay here.”

“It’s nothing,” he admitted with a smile. “You are always welcome here. It’s a big house, after all.”

“You are so kind, _ John _.”

The way she said his name made him shiver. “I wouldn’t use that word in describing myself.”

She lifted her eyebrow. “Why?”

He sighed. She was still straddling him, her body pressing into his, warm skin on skin - no, he will not allow it to distract him. He attempted a weak smile. “You could say I’m not the best example of a man.”

She decided not to push him. Maybe because she already sensed the answer. Still, she laid a palm on his shoulder, eyes warm with reassurance. “But you haven’t been anything but kind to me so far.”

“So far.” He joked. “Never say never though.” He let out a short cough, averting her confused gaze. “You must be quite hungry now, aren’t you? I’d say breakfast is in order.”

She tilted her head to the side. “Don’t try to change the subject.”

She wasn’t easily fooled, then. Maybe that’s the reason he liked her. “I assure you I’m not.” He lied. Well, not completely, his stomach did start to remind him that it indeed was the time for breakfast.

Deborah bit her lower lip, studying his eyes as if she was trying to look right under his unwavering smile but decided against it at the last minute. “Alright then, I should probably get dressed. If you’ll excuse me…”

“Of course,” he said with a grin. 

She walked across the room, gathering her evening dress from the chair she rested it against the previous night. She felt his gaze upon her as she started to put it on, silky fabric cold against her skin. Did he like what he saw or was he just curious? Nevertheless, she felt his studying eyes burn into her skin and surprisingly, it wasn’t as uncomfortable as she feared.

“Ready?” He asked when she was done, hands supporting his head, a linger of a grin on his face.

She combed her hair with a few strokes of her hands, giving up eventually, letting it fall on her shoulders half-untangled. 

“I assure you you look perfectly lovely,” he said, seeing her confused face. “I do have a comb, of course, I’m a gentleman. I can borrow you one should you wish.”

“You certainly know how to flatter a woman,” she said jokingly and he laughed.

“It’s not flattering if it’s true now, is it?”

She made a face and sighed. “You really just want me to say ‘yes’ to that breakfast, don’t you?”

“You found me out, I admit!” He grinned. “But I guess I did get my answer, then?”

She rolled her eyes but smiled. “You did, yes.”

“Splendid!” He sat up in a second, suddenly feeling energized. Why was he acting like that? Is he truly looking like a fool in her eyes? And why does he care? Nevertheless, he ran fingers through his hair and straightened his shirt to make himself ready. He flashed her a confident smirk before getting up from the bed. “I will have it ready in a moment.”

* * *

John Seed was certainly living with gusto. Owner of the local bank and easily the wealthiest man around, he was never trying to hide his luxurious life-style, be it with the elegant suits and vests he wore, or his imposing manor with quite a decent portion of land at the edge of the town. 

He and Deborah were sitting on the porch overlooking green pastures and stables, the green plains in the distance gently bathing in the warmth of the morning sun.

Debbie was making her way through a rather delicious breakfast, suddenly realizing how hungry she was. John was watching her with affection in his eyes, sipping coffee. They talked - about work at the ranch that needed to be done but not only just that. About her childhood, the time she spent with her uncle, about her cat, her flower garden, about the way she painted.

John was listening with great interest and, in the midway of their conversation, suddenly realized this was probably the first time he wasn’t talking about himself and actually preferred it that way. But also, in a way, he didn’t really want to anyway- talking about his childhood was not a pleasant pastime and he certainly didn’t want to sadden her anymore. He enjoyed her smile quite a lot, or how her mouth broke into a grin when he said something suggestive. The way her voice sounded when she started giggling, putting a hand in front of her mouth and muttering apologies. Or how her eyes gazed into his sometimes in such a way he’d like to believe was meant for him only. Almost as if she was studying him with a genuine interest, as if she knew he was hiding something, something painful she wanted to uncover, not out of malice but… affection? Was he really that starved for one? Was he really just so busy trying to find himself all these years, jumping from one fleeting romance to the other and now that she was right in front of him, someone who made him feel like the utter fool, he couldn’t do anything. Not that he wouldn’t be able to but…

‘I don’t want you to get hurt.’ His own words resonated within his mind, stinging deep.

_ It will all pass _ , he thought. John was an excellent liar, sometimes even succeeding in lying to himself. _ It will all pass _ , he kept going on, and he already worried his mind with another thought: _ but I don’t want it to _. 

Deborah noticed his gaze and shot him a questioning look. “What are you thinking about?”

He let out a quick smile. “You.”

She made a face. “It didn’t seem as anything pleasant.”

“It’s not like that.” He took a sip from his cup as if trying to buy the time. “I was just thinking about… I’m worried about you.”

She wasn’t impressed by his answer. “Was it because of what happened at the art show?”

Oh, she was good. What was he trying to hide anyway? He will have to tell her. Yes, at some point. It will be better that way. But does he really want to? He knew the answer. Was John Seed finally, after all this time, going to do something he didn’t want to do but had to? 

_ Just a few hours _ , he told himself, looking at her, her small hands wrapped around her cup, worried gaze on her pretty face. _ Until the evening, at least _ . “I assure you it’s nothing unpleasant about you. You are…” Yes, he will admit it. “You are so lovely, Debbie. I _ love _having you around.” 

Her eyes warmed up. Hesitating, she laid her palm across the table, wanting to brush it against his fingers but stopping herself at the last minute. John noticed, a sad smile on his lips. He took her hand in his, his thumb gently caressing her skin. He didn’t say anything. Didn’t have to.

_ Does she know? Is it the reason she looks both so happy and sad at the same time? And what’s more important, why is it tearing me apart? _

* * *

The Ellsworth ranch was bathing in the midday sun when they arrived. They did take their time and John wouldn’t mind if Deborah stayed a little longer, but she insisted on coming back because she didn’t want to worry her new horse master too much. Felix Ross seemed like a man dealing with his own share of troubles, there was no need to add more to them.

Indeed, there he was, rushing towards the gate as soon as he saw the riders approaching the ranch.

“Miss Fawkes! Mister Seed! Father Joseph stopped by at night, telling me what happened. I’m so glad you are safe.”

“Thank you, mister Ross,” Deborah said with a smile, dismounting from her horse. “But please, you surely have enough troubles of your own for you to worry about me.”

“Ah, it’s in my nature! Can’t stop worrying ever, it seems.” He said jokingly, brushing the matter away. “Folks from the saloon came early this morning with your paintings. I had them stored in the atelier.” He rubbed his silver beard, a look of pity on his face. “It’s great shame the show had to be cut short. But I’m more than sure you will be able to open many more from now on.” He added reassuringly, then patted her on the shoulder. “Now, let me take your horse to the stables. And I will hitch mister John’s outside, right?”

“Thank you,” John said handing him the reins, then followed Deborah on the cobblestone path towards the main building.

“It’s a good thing they managed to bring the paintings back so soon,” she said. “This way I can at least give you the one I promised you.”

Her autoportrait. Of course. John didn’t forget, despite what happened, and he was pleased she didn’t as well.

She led him to the atelier. It was a spacious room, with doors leading to the garden. Someone opened the windows wide, fresh summer breeze playing gently with the curtains. Deborah painted the walls soft blue. 

* * *

John remembered that day, he even helped her. Shirt sleeves rolled up, it felt great to be working with paint again. His job and responsibilities made it increasingly harder to sit down with his hobby. He had mentioned it to her that day while they painted the atelier together, still remembering the way she smiled.

“You paint too?” She said, eyes beamed with excitement. “That’s incredible! You have to show me sometime!”

He flashed her a confident grin, stopping his work for a second. “I’d be happy to show you that and _ more _, my lady.” He said jokingly and she broke into a laugh, though he quickly realized it wasn’t because of what he said.

“Your face!” She giggled, pointing at him. “You have some paint on your nose!”

He rubbed it with the back of his hand, only smearing it further, coloring his nose bright blue, and she kept on laughing, setting her brush aside as she couldn’t work anymore. She was mostly laughing at his exasperated expression now, his fruitless attempts to clean the paint growing more and more hilarious. 

“Oh, you little minx!” He gave up after some time and began to chase her, with a mischievous grin on his face. She screamed, running away from him through the room, still laughing whenever she looked back at him. “Just wait until I catch you!”

“OH NO!” She made a face, sticking her tongue out at him. “What are you going to do? Paint me BLUE? You will never catch me alive!” She burst into laughter after that but tripped as she run and would almost fell to the ground if he didn’t catch her in his arms. 

She squealed in his embrace as he held her tight, dipping a brush into a bucket of paint, then drawing a clear, long line on her nose. “Revenge is mine!” He exclaimed, laughing mischievously.

She didn’t seem to mind, giggling way too hard to actually attempt to pay him back, holding his shoulders. “Alright, alright, you win!” She admitted after a while, face red with laughter and rested her head on his shoulder, careful enough not to smear her nose against his shirt. 

* * *

“There it is!” Debbie interrupted his train of thought as she unwrapped the painting. “Unless you changed your mind, of course.” 

He grinned at her, taking the canvas in his hands, examining it against broad daylight. “I assure you I’m very adamant with my choices. Thank you again.”

“It’s nothing.” She waved his remark aside. “It’s the least I can do,” she then added with a smirk.

“Oh, you…” He laughed, wanting to say something clever, but was interrupted by the knock on the door.

Mister Ross entered the room, with a look of worry on his face. “Sorry to disturb you, but there’s a visitor.”

Deborah raised an eyebrow. “A visitor? I wasn’t expecting anybody.”

“She said she came on short notice,” Ross explained. “One miss Dravić I believe. An associate of mister Jacob, she said. Something about what happened yesterday? She’s in the dining room.” 

John and Deborah exchanged looks. “Thank you, mister Ross.” She said with a smile. “Please rest easy now.”

He looked at them as they left and sighed, mostly just for himself. “Ain’t such a thing as restin’ easy for this old man, young miss.”

* * *

She was in her mid-twenties, with a serious gaze, yet her eyes seemed tired when one looked close enough. Her weathered leather hat was set aside on the table next to her, revealing her short dark wavy hair. She was already making herself comfortable sitting at the long wooden table in the dining room, setting her coat on the chair behind her, arms crossed on her chest. She was so used to sitting like this, in saloons, appearing indifferent as if she was minding her own business while her eyes carefully darted across the room, studying people around her. Sometimes out of curiosity, most of the time because of business. Bounty hunting was an unkind job but it paid, and maybe that was enough to make her feel less guilty in the eyes of her little daughter. Just maybe. “Mommy is fighting bad guys.” Yes, dear, yes indeed. One day she will find out there’s seldom such things as ‘good’ and ‘bad’. But not today. 

“Rose Dravić.” She introduced herself when John and Deborah entered the room, offering her hand in a friendly gesture. “I used to work with Jacob for a while. He told me what happened yesterday. That’s the reason why I’m here.”

“I’m pleased to meet you,” Deborah said. “I’m...”

“I know who you are. I’m here to help, I guess. To help explain what maybe happened.”

Deborah shot her a questioning look, but her inner desire to be a good host was stronger than her curiosity. “Would you like something to drink before you begin? Coffee or tea?”

“Do you have something stronger, maybe? Whiskey will do.” Rose asked with a hint of amusement in her voice.

“Of course.” She laid a hand on John’s shoulder. “What about you?”

He smiled. “I feel like whiskey is a good choice if we are going to even attempt to talk about yesterday.”

“Fair point.” She said, crossing the room to enter the doorway leading to the kitchen. She returned shortly, with a bottle and three glasses that she set on the table. She poured the whiskey, rising the glass up with her guests following suit.

Rose emptied the cup in one gulp and set it back on the table. “Jacob told me about yesterday and I figured out it would be best to come in person to tell you about my… experiences. That and he also wanted to meet you straight away but I told him to get some rest instead.”

“What did he tell you?” John asked.

“About the man that attacked you. About the…” she frowned as if even uttering such things was hard for her, “...flames that shot from his hands. Is the grave keeper’s assistant okay?”

“My mother is taking care of him,” Deborah answered with hope in her eyes. “She’s an excellent doctor. He should be fine.”

“Mhm,” Rose pointed at the bandages on Deborah’s hand. “Jacob also told me about what you did. That was pretty stupid.” She said, yet her stare was soft at the edges as if she also acknowledged the bravery behind such an action. Still believing it was foolish, yes, but her stare was not a judging one.

Deborah averted her gaze still, avoiding Rose’s eyes. “I wasn’t really thinking.” She bit her lower lip, looking at John. “I didn’t want anybody to get hurt.”

Rose shot them a curious gaze, noticing only now Deborah’s portrait John carefully set near the wall behind the long wooden table they were seated at. “Jacob didn’t mention you two were together.” 

“We are not.” Deborah blurted out, already blushing. “Why does everybody think we are together?”

“Why, indeed,” Rose said, not hiding the hint of amusement in her voice. “It’s such a _ mystery _. Nevertheless…” she continued on, “the reason I’m here is that I had something similar happen to me.”

She gave them a moment to exchange surprised looks before she continued on. It wasn’t easy at all. But she knew that. Jacob was the only person, aside from her brother, who knew and to be quite honest, Rose herself wasn’t perfectly sure what she saw. 

“I’m a rational person.” She said, pouring herself another drink. She took a sip as if trying to buy some time. “I always look for a logical explanation of things and I believe… _ hope _, this has one too. I’ve tried to find it but…” she sighed. “I’m at a loss.”

She frowned, shooting them a quick gaze as if afraid they might think her crazy. Even uttering these words out loud felt so surreal. She was ready to find a rational explanation for it all, she _ had _to. And yet she knew what she saw. She wasn’t certain she understood, however. 

“Please,” Deborah’s voice was soft. “I know it’s hard, but please continue.”

Rose sighed, closed her eyes, then started talking. “There’s no subtle way around it. It happened a few weeks ago. I was chasing a contract, a nasty murderer and a thief. It was a well-paid job and I was determined to get him. I traveled through the Wolfsbane valley, through the forest at night and what I saw, well… It felt like a scene from a cheap gothic novel, yet I know what I saw.” She frowned, remembering the night quite vividly. “I almost wish I didn’t.”

It was way past midnight when Rose rode, carrying her lantern high. The forest was quiet, save for the occasional chirping of insects and lonely owls howling into the night. Her mark was last seen in this area and she was determined more than ever to catch the bastard. Rose was seldom afraid of things and she definitely managed to hide her fear well, yet as she traveled the narrow path shrouded by pitch-black shadows of trees, she felt uneasy. She wasn’t afraid of the dark - and her lantern illuminated the road ahead with dancing sparks of light - but she had the growing feeling of being watched. Her neck tensed as if an invisible person breathed on it - there was nobody around, of course, but she felt her hand travel to her holster without her even realizing it. 

It wasn’t long before she heard the sound of running hooves behind her. She turned around instantly, drawing her weapon, yet the road was empty, save for a rising dust cloud illuminated by her lantern. 

She heard it again, coming from between the trees on her left - a focused cacophony of speed, rushing between the shadows of the night. She turned her lantern that way - was her hand really shaking so much? - to catch a brief glimpse of a dark silhouette running through the forest. It was an imposing animal, horse-like in appearance, yet there was something amiss - but it had to be a horse, right? It was gone as quickly as it came, soon shrouding the forest in silence as if it never was there in the first place.

Maybe she was dreaming, she thought at first. She was way too tired, maybe it was the time to get some sleep. She almost dismounted from her horse in order to prepare a camp for the night, when she met him.

A rider on a pale horse, rushing through the forest. His pace was focused as if he clearly knew where he’s going, yet he seemed completely oblivious to the world around him. Indeed, he almost bumped into her if she didn’t shout at him to stop, her weapon raised high.

His face was obscured by the darkness and the hat he was wearing, but she knew he wasn’t her mark from his voice. Low, yet somewhat firm and smooth as sin, with a hint of sadness underneath. It was as if she heard him from far away and at the same time, inside her head. 

“Don’t shoot at me, I’m not the man you are looking for.” He said, his horse standing still, penetrating her soul with a focused gaze of a pair of blue eyes.

“How do you know I’m looking for someone?” She asked, attempting to hide the shakiness in her voice.

“I know things,” was the answer. She had a sense she wouldn’t get much more from him. A lunatic wandering the forest at night, surely. A deranged soul, caught up in opiates too much perhaps, searching for himself. Yet his demeanor was elegant and self-aware and there was something about the way he talked - like an educated gentleman - that had her doubt her assumptions.

“It’s not safe here in these hours.” He said. “Especially right now. You should turn around. Trust me.”  
She raised her chin up in defiance. “I barely know you. You almost ran into me with your horse!”

“I apologize.” He said. “I’m not here for you.”

She raised an eyebrow. Could he be a bounty hunter? She was perfectly sure she won’t stand any competition. “For whom then?”

Her answer was the sound of hoofs rushing through the forest again, this time further down South. Her horse tilted its ears that way and she felt the creeping feeling of being watched again.

“It’s better if you don’t know.” Then, as if sensing her previous thoughts. “I’m not here to compete with you.” It was hard to say since she couldn’t quite make out his expression, but there was a hint of genuine kindness in his words. “Turn around now. Go and don’t come back until the sun shines again. She is merciful in her embrace. It’s something that makes life a bit softer, at least.”  
She wanted to ask him something more, but the sound of the running creature cut through the night and the rider sprung into motion, rushing through the path without as much as saying his farewells. 

Maybe it was wrong to follow him. Maybe it was stupid. It was certainly too late to blame herself for that, though. What’s been done has been done.

She rode through the night, following the rushing hoofs pounding on the ground with a sense of trepidation in her heart, completely forgetting her true reason for entering that forest.

She found a clearing, tall crooked leaves shielding the grass underneath. A number of scattered stones rose from the ground, covered in moss. Their position seemed random at first, but if Rose had the idea of climbing up a tree and looking at the clearing from there, she would see they formed a pattern - a sort of a circle, with three stones in the middle.

She saw the rider arrive at the clearing before her, dismantling from his horse and walking closer to the center. She hid in the bushes nearby, gazing at the scene in front of her with increasing doubts. What was she doing here, hiding like a criminal? What was she expecting would happen?

Rose heard the sound of flapping wings, the impact making the leaves shiver, then a thud on the ground as a pair of hoofs started dancing in the grass before stopping completely. She could see the massive silhouette amidst the trees and shifted a little to the left to get a better look at it.

The creature was imposing, with pitch-black fur and the head of a goat crowned with a pair of twisted horns. A long forked tail swayed around its body before curling elegantly against its hoofed feet. The most disturbing part was the huge bat-like wings protruding from its back, somewhat darker than the night itself. The creature sniffed the night air then turned its flaming red eyes towards the man approaching. 

All was silent, save for his footsteps echoing through the forest. The man stretched his hand towards the goat in a calming gesture, the creature making a few steps back before spreading its wings dangerously.

Then the man started talking. Strange words in a tongue she never heard before started to flow out of his mouth. Was it Latin? Or something even worse?

The creature made a few steps back and shook its head, wings beating against the night air. Was the man trying to… subdue it somehow? It certainly seemed as if the creature wasn’t willing to cooperate, yet there was something stopping it from flying away. It sprung forth in a swift motion as if trying to bite the man’s hand before he quickly ducked out of reach. It opened its mouth but stopped, sniffing at the air like before as if something caught its attention.

Rose felt her heart skip when the goat slowly turned its head around to face her, red eyes burning holes into her soul. She wasn’t sure how it saw her behind the bushes, but she was unable to move. 

She would never forget the horrible, blood-curdling scream that echoed through the night at that moment. The creature stood up on its hind legs for a second, before turning towards her with its entire body, ready to spring into motion.

The man yelled, in a foreign tongue, but with such ferocity that made her shiver. The creature turned its head towards him, letting out yet another terrible scream, then flapped its wings and left, flying away, its shadow growing smaller and smaller against the night sky. 

He approached her with steadiness in his step as if everything that happened so far was perfectly normal and ordinary for him. Offering her his hand to help her stand up, he slipped a tiny box into her pocket.

“What’s that?” She asked, voice still shaking.

“You might need those one day.” He answered calmly.

She fished the box out of her pocket, examining it. “Silver bullets? Why would I...” She raised her head to meet his gaze once more but to her amazement, she found herself completely alone.

She didn’t catch her mark that night, but she wasn’t entirely sorry. Either for the terrifying scream of the creature that cut through her soul or for the empty footprints etched into the soil - the man who left them gone, along with all the answers that could ever explain the story of those flaming red eyes. 

Rose reached into her pocket and pulled out the very same box of silver bullets on the dinner table. It was half-empty now, as she gave some of them to Jacob.

She gave John and Deborah one long look, then shrugged. “That’s my whole story. I’ve never met the man again, but I have a feeling he somehow knew about these things. He might be the one to look for answers to, but I’m afraid finding him won’t be exactly easy.”

“Are you sure you didn’t catch his features at all?” John asked. “Anything that could help us?”

She sighed in frustration. “No. It was dark and well, I don’t remember very clearly after everything that happened. All I know is that he had a very particular voice.” She frowned, trying to remember it. “Smooth, well-articulated. I know that’s not much.”

Debbie worried her lip. “I’m glad you decided to tell us your story. I’m only afraid it produces more questions than answers, though.” 

John took a sip from his glass, emptying it, then started absentmindedly running circles along the edges with his finger. “The fact that what happened to us could also happen to other people… I’m not the one to believe in supernatural business, yet the things I’ve seen and heard so far…”

“There must be a rational explanation.” Rose insisted and John nodded. “Though it might prove to be hard to find.”

They heard a small ruckus from outside through the open windows, followed by a stream of mild curses. A moment later, the figure of Felix Ross appeared in the doorway, with a distressed look on his face.

“Big apologies for overhearing your conversation, but I was working right outside and couldn’t help it. The thing is, miss Fawkes, I forgot to tell you something.” He started playing with his hands, trying to find an elegant way about it, but giving up at the last moment. “I met… someone. A similar man, if not the same.” He looked down at his feet before bracing himself to brave their gazes again. “He’s the true reason I decided to work here.”

It was a scorching day back in the withered land down South. Felix rode through a canyon floor, pairs of birds crossing the blue sky above his head. He was on his way home from a horse auction because his son was indisposed at the moment. He was parched, realizing with inevitable certainty he was way too old for this. He should just keep to his horses at the ranch instead of running errands in the surrounding towns. Felix was already looking forward to his comfortable chair at the porch, overlooking the stables and the pastures nearby. Damn, he was really too old for this. High noon sun beamed in the sky, showering his face with warm rays and he smiled. Wiping the sweat from his forehead, he still smiled, for there was something about the way the sun shone that day. He smiled as he rode on, despite his aching bones and the worries on his mind. 

Then he met him and everything in his life changed. 

A tall rider on a pale horse, a leather hat set deep in his face. He appeared on the road ahead and Felix stopped smiling when he saw the horde of horses following the man.

They were strong animals, carrying themselves with a mix of elegance and masked wrath, their fur pitch black, flowing manes and - was he imagining all this? - flaming eyes. They shone in the high sun like a hundred embers, crimson like the blood with a promise of doom set deep inside them. 

The horse Felix rode on stopped immediately, muscles tense. 

"Shh now, boy." The horse master patted the animal reassuringly, his voice masking the dread creeping into his own soul. 

The pale rider stopped in his tracks, raising his left hand and the horses behind him halted as if the gesture implied them to by some divine power. They stared at the old man with their unwavering red gazes. The canyon floor fell silent and somehow, even the warmth of the sun seemed to be far away. 

Nothing happened for a while. The rider didn't speak, as if waiting for Felix to make the first move. Since the old man didn't feel like rushing past the devilish horses, he wiped his forehead and with a shaking voice addressed the rider. "Those are mighty horses, friend."

"These?" The rider said absently as if only now realizing the huge number of animals following him. As if they were completely ordinary and not looking straight out of a ghost story. "They are strong animals. Don't be fooled though, they are demons. Did quite a lot of crooked things in their lives."

Felix raised an eyebrow, growing slightly more uneasy with each passing minute. "What evil could a horse do?"

"A horse? Not much." The rider's voice grew unexpectedly cold. "I didn't say they did it while they were horses." 

"Oh, what?" Felix chuckled, hiding the distress in his voice. "Did a witch turn them into animals, then?"

The rider reached into his pocket and picked up a cigarette. “Something like that, yes.” He said dismissively, lighting up the cigarette with a flick of his index finger. A flame danced on the tip of his nail for a moment, before the man snuffed it out. “But they aren’t my horses. I’m just looking after them for a… _ friend _. I lost a card game against him and now I owe the bastard.”

_ What kind of a man owns a horde of hellish horses? _ Felix thought. He asked him.

The rider exhaled a thick cloud of smoke from his mouth, holding the cigarette in his free hand. “_ Who _ do you think, friend?”

Then he realized. A sudden dread came upon his body, seizing him completely. The rider on the pale horse gave out a sad chuckle, then sprung into motion, commanding the horses to follow. They galloped past him, leaving clouds of dust behind. Felix stared at them as they went by as if glued to the ground, their silhouettes dark against the flaming sun.

That wasn’t the last time he met the pale rider.

He raised his head up, giving his audience across the table one long look. “It happened a few days afterward. I almost wish I never met him and yet…” He paused as if even admitting such words was extremely hard for him. “And yet, he saved my life.”

He was offering him a hand, the same hand that shot the bastard between the eyes. It was a clean shot, perfect, he knew what he was doing. Somehow that scared Felix even more than the possibility of being killed by the bandit - now lying dead on the ground. 

He got harassed before, nothing new. The time of the outlaws was gone, yet some of them lingered, like vultures, scouting the land for meek folk to rob, to kill. Felix was a stubborn man and he sure wasn’t going to be robbed - of his prize horses at that - and he refused to cooperate. He loved his horses and were it not for the pale rider, appearing seemingly out of nowhere, he could have died for them as well. 

“You need to get out of here,” the man said, his hat shrouding his face, yet his voice was clear with his intent. “As soon as possible.”

Felix knew. He knew nobody would believe him if he said he didn’t kill the man. How could they? Nobody ever saw the pale rider as far as he knew - and they weren’t likely to believe in his existence either. But could he really go? Can he?

“I have nowhere to go,” he admitted, trying to look away from the body at his feet. Dead, not by his hand, no. Why did it feel that way, though?

The rider looked at him, finally revealing his bright eyes. “In three days, a man will visit you. You will recognize him straight away. He will have the eyes of an angel, bright blue, but his soul is far from pure. He will claim an associate of yours sent him. Don’t question him. He will give you an offer.” His stare was impossible to escape, his voice deep, yet far away, as if spoken from the other side of a grave, yet the intent was genuine, and Felix couldn’t help but believe him. He didn’t have a choice. “_ Take it. _”

Felix Ross looked up, eyes still foggy with the distant memories of that day. “That’s how I met you, mister Seed. When I said your timing seemed most convenient, I didn’t lie.”

John opened his mouth in response but was interrupted by a loud noise of approaching footsteps. The door opened wide with a slam and the disheveled figure of Samuel rushed inside.

“Deborah!” He exclaimed, going around the table to meet her. “I came as fast as I could, I was so worried, are you okay?”

She didn’t have much chance to answer before John stood up, visibly annoyed. “We are in the middle of something here.”

Samuel looked around as if realizing only now the dining room was filled with other people. “I’m sorry, I… can I talk to you in private?”

Deborah smiled. “Of course, just maybe not now, if that’s okay? Mister Ross was telling us something important.”

Samuel nodded, yet still quite uncertain of what to do. “M-maybe in the saloon tonight? I..” He looked at the faces watching him, suddenly feeling shy. “I need to apologize for what I’ve done.” He blurted it out quite fast, did she even get it right?

John rolled his eyes. “Don’t you feel it’s quite late for that?”

Deborah laid a palm on his shoulder gently, her look silencing him. “It’s never too late. I will try to be there, Sam.”

He nodded hastily, turning around to leave the room. “I.. thank you.” He said, disappearing as soon as he came.

Rose raised an eyebrow, a hint of amusement in her voice. “Mighty lively place you have here. Might as well start a party.”

John seated himself again, ignoring her comment. He turned his face towards Ross. “It’s true I had an associate tell me about you needing work. I’m a busy man, there was no way for me to ride through the country looking for able men. I had my folks go have a look and only intended to visit the candidate I decided to pick. My people informed be about you because, well, an associate of yours gave them the tip.” He rubbed his beard, thinking of the name. “Mister Ray? Mister Edmund Ray if I remember correctly. He said you were a hardworking man and in a… dire situation.” John paused. “In fact, it all seems a bit strange now, but I had a really good feeling about it all, so I decided to employ you.”

“That’s almighty kind of you sir, and I’m beyond thankful for this opportunity, but there’s another thing,” Ross said, visibly shaking.

John raised an eyebrow, suddenly feeling uneasy. “What thing?”

The horse master looked at his hands, then back up again, as if wondering whether to actually say it or not. He sighed, closing his eyes before he spoke again. “The associate you mentioned, who gave you the tip. Edmund Ray. He…” Ross opened his eyes, his voice heavy. “He’s been dead in the ground for three years.”


	5. Affirmation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Deborah and John meet Samuel who seeks to apologize for his previous behavior, but something goes horribly wrong. And yet, John reveals a part of himself that has been long buried deep in his heart - or maybe not as deep as he might want.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've included links to two (2) tracks intended to be listened to while reading through specific scenes (completely non-obligatory, but it might help with the atmosphere). They are marked with [►] in the text (link included) and the ending of the track is then labeled with [◼]. Both songs are pretty short for the intended reading time, so I suggest putting them on repeat.

_ "Mister Callahan, the owner of the Callahan ranch, reported the disappearance of a horse last week. The stallion has been found near the forest around Devil’s Point yesterday evening and recovered after escaping from its enclosure. The animal seemed to be startled by a disturbance in the area, fleeing into the woods. Local farmers admit to witnessing strange occurrences around the parts and hoof marks being left in the soil. Horses seem to be the most agitated, for a yet unknown reason. Some ranchers theorize a change of weather, yet such claims haven’t been confirmed yet. A man was seen wandering near the woods, possibly having his hand in the whole affair. Clearly, no horses have been stolen yet, but we advise all ranchers to be on high alert" _

— ‘Disturbances at the Stables’, Hope’s Peak Weekly

* * *

The evening air was warm, lingering with the scorching memory of the burning summer day, the sun still illuminating the main road of Hope’s Peak.

“Thank you so much for coming,” Deborah said towards John as they walked, turning around to see his amused expression. “What’s so funny?”

He gave her an innocent look and waved her question away. “Ah, nothing, _ nothing _at all.”

They continued walking towards the saloon and she made a face at him. “You have a dirty mind, John Seed.”

“Oh, that?” He raised an eyebrow and grinned. “You have _ no _idea.”

Deborah rolled her eyes. “I just wanted some moral support. I doubt Samuel would want to cause any harm, but after everything that’s happened talking to him is… hard.”

“I understand,” John said with a smile. “I have your back.”

“Well then, thank you,” she smirked, stopping in the middle of the road pretending to curtsy. “What would I even do without you?”

He sighed, clearly amused. “I know. I truly make the best company around, don’t I?”

She laughed, shaking her head. “Of course, that’s exactly what I was going to say.”

“I have no doubts about that,” he grinned, stopping in front of her as they arrived at the saloon. “Ladies first.”

“Thank you,” she said again as she entered the building.

The saloon was lively as was the custom at this hour. Nothing too indecent, of course, Hope’s Peak was an honest town and brawls happened very scarcely. Cheerful music filled the place and people occupied the tables, caught up in all sorts of chatter - some of them were locals, yet John spotted a few faces he knew from other places. Hope’s Peak was a popular spot for tourists from big cities seeking the true essence of the West - nestled amidst nature, it was a cozy town welcoming to strangers. And the surrounding plains offered many a mystery, especially the notoriously known ghost town of Devil’s Point. 

Deborah looked around the room. “He isn’t here yet.”

“Well, we’ll have to wait for him, then,” John said, gesturing for her to sit behind an empty table. “Will you eat anything?”

She shook her head. “I ate at home. Besides, I don’t really feel like eating right now.”

He smiled. “Wine then?”

She nodded, relaxed a little. “That would be nice, yes.”

John waved his hand over to the barkeeper, shouting over the music. “Wine! The good stuff, ya know, as usual.”

The barman gave him a wink and a nod. “Yes, mister, I have one stored just for you.”

“Well ain’t you a blessing from the heavens,” John said as he seated himself across Deborah. 

“Seems you are quite welcome here,” she mused aloud after they had their drinks poured. 

John didn’t hide his amusement with that comment. “Being the town’s favorite has some benefits,” he raised a glass and waited for her to follow suit. “Good wine, for example.”

She took a sip, his eyes lingering on her with expectation. “Quite right,” she said with a smile. “You know your wine well.”

He winked back at her. “I know many things, my dear.”

Deborah rolled her eyes and laughed. “I’m sure that’s true.”

He watched her gaze dart across the room. “Are you okay?”

She sighed. “Yes, for the most part. I’m just trying to piece everything together but failing. And now the business with Samuel…” She shrugged. “I just want it all figured out. I hate uncertainty. Give me a problem and a sure-proof way to solve it and I’ll do it, but this…” She gestured vaguely. “_ Everything… _ feels so crazy to me.”

John nodded, then raised his glass with a little smile. “Has anybody ever told you you think too much?”

She let out a quick laugh. “Yes, too many times. But,” she bit her lower lip, “doesn’t all this bother you?”

“Of course it does,” he laid a palm atop her hand. “But right now, freaking about it won’t help. We are here for one reason. So,” he raised his glass with a mischievous smirk. “Will you dance with me, m’lady?”

Deborah blinked in surprise. “You mean… now?”

He was so shameless, smooth smiles as he offered her his hand. “They are playing a real nice song right now, so why not?”

“B-but what about Sam?”

John raised an eyebrow. “Oh, _ him_. He’s late anyway, what harm could it do? Once he arrives, you’re all his.”

She gave him a questioning look, then shot a quick gaze to the middle of the saloon where a few couples already swayed in motion to the song, then gave up. She was about to accept when she caught a glimpse of something - someone - just behind John and her smile faded.

“Oh, there you are,” she said, trying to hide the concern in her voice.

John flashed her a confused look then turned around as if only now realizing the true reason for their evening outing. 

Samuel stumbled through the saloon, his hair slightly disheveled, bright eyes flashing with something unrecognizable. “Ah yes, here I am,” he frowned slightly when he met John’s eyes. “And as I can see, _ he’s _ here as well.”

The pianist started playing again, drowning their conversation in music, yet some of the bystanders exchanged curious looks and a string of hushed whispers flew across the room. 

John didn’t seem to be bothered by Samuel’s cold change of tone. He looked him in the eye, unabated. “You are _ late _.”

To their surprise, the man only chuckled. “Oh am I now? Why do_ you _care anyway? I didn’t come to talk to _ you _.”

He attempted to sit down behind their table, yet stumbled on his own feet and basically fell onto the chair. “I’m here to talk to Debbie.”

Deborah sat down across him, laying a palm across his shoulder, her voice quieter. “Sam… have you been drinking?”

He threw his hands in the air. “Yes, I certainly hope so, anyway. Because if this is what being sober is, then I don’t want it.”

“Is this why you are late?”

“...Yeah. Needed some liquid courage before I could spill the beans, so to say.”

Deborah and John exchanged silent looks. John tried his best not to make a comment, yet he crossed his hands across his chest, frowning, fully showing his annoyance with the current situation. 

“Maybe we should talk later,” Deborah said. “Once you get some rest.”

Sam nodded to himself as if realizing something he had been pondering. He shook his head, pointing a finger at John, yet refusing to look in his face. “What is _ he _doing here?”

Deborah bit her lip. “Nothing. You were late and we just bumped into each other.”

Sam smiled. “You are a terrible liar, Debbie. Mister John Seed doesn’t lose his time in small-town saloons like this one for no reason. He’s a society man! Way too high and mighty for the likes of us.”

John opened his mouth in response, most likely trying to prove Sam wrong with an especially bitter and witty comeback, but the young man carried on, earning a particularly angry look from the bank owner for interrupting him.

“Oh, I know what’s going on here.” He said with a sad smile. “Don’t need to be particularly smart to see it.”

“That so?” John asked with a hint of bitter amusement in his voice. “Enlighten us then, please.”

“Oh you know, don’t you play games with me!” Samuel raised his voice. “You two…” He sighed, looking at his hands. “You’ve been together for quite some time now, no? Never mind the fact that nobody bothered to tell me! Making an utter fool of myself for what?” He raised his eyes, meeting Deborah’s gaze. “Why did you let me?! You thought it was funny? Well, it fucking wasn’t.”

Deborah blinked in surprise, taken aback by his sudden hostility. “Wait- what are you trying to say? Me and John…”

She was interrupted by John’s hand on her shoulder. “_ Yes_, we _ are _ together.” He said, innocently, without any hint of anger in his voice. “ _ And what of it _?”

She tried to speak in protest but it was way too late. Sam’s face turned red but his voice was low and firm, almost as if he already knew what was going to happen. As if he prepared his speech before. He didn’t look at John yet, speaking slowly, hiding the anger beneath his words. “Don’t you have enough?”

“What do you mean?” Deborah raised her eyebrow, a worry apparent on her face.

“I was talking to_ him_,” Samuel answered, only now standing up to meet John’s gaze. “With your mighty ranch and the whole town in your pocket. With your fancy suits and crooked smiles. Everyone is either in love with you or utterly terrified of you. Don’t you think that’s enough?” 

John stood his ground as Samuel moved closer to him, blue eyes flashing with cold anger. “What the hell are you on about now?!”

Samuel didn’t react to his angry remark and continued on with his speech. “Are you so consumed with yourself you can’t fucking stop? You are living in a damned palace and yet you had to have the Ellsworth ranch as well?!”

John didn’t try to hide his anger anymore. In fact, he didn’t even want to. “So that’s what this is about?! You think I’m in this just because I want the land?” He laughed. “Get a grip on reality, _ boy _.”

Sam’s hands balled into fists. “‘Boy’? Seriously?!”

John ignored him, his insides boiling, yet he couldn’t hide the amusement in his voice. Deborah looked at him in shock. Was he_ enjoying _this?

“Why would I care for the land, hm?!” John asked. “As you said, I already have,” he opened his hands wide as if to underline his point, “_ everything_. You know, using one’s head to think is a jolly good exercise these days.” He grinned at the young man viciously as if trying - _ hoping _\- to finally make him snap. “I suggest you’d try it out sometime.”

Samuel ignored his comment, his face a grimace of anger. Perhaps it was always there, waiting to be pushed to its limits. “You think you are mighty clever, don’t ya? Walking through here as if you owned the fucking place! Putting on that sick smile of yours, knowing nobody can stand up to you because they are all busy getting their noses brown climbing up your arse or they cower in fear whenever you walk nearby!” A few of the patrons stopped drinking, turning their heads to the two men, questioning looks trying to decide whether they should make them calm down or jump into the action. 

Deborah noticed as well, finally sensing the opportunity to speak up. “Now, let’s not get hasty.” She stood up, carefully placing her hands on John and Sam’s shoulders. “_ Please _.”

Sam shook her hand off, ignoring her. He continued talking, his voice dropping ever so slightly as his tone paced up. “I always wondered what it’d take to wipe that smug look off your face.”

“Careful, now.” John raised his voice. “You don’t want to start this fight with me, _ boy _.”

“Again?! Really?!” Was that the last drop for Sam or did he actually hope it would finally happen? And John? Was he looking for an excuse all this time? Deborah didn’t know the answer but everything happened way too fast for her to prevent it.

[[ ► ](https://open.spotify.com/track/6rGNPA6zBJs1APgeCh1v3l?si=-bT8lFG2RbaQmNHsIQc1rg)] If anyone asked her how exactly the fight went, she would find it hard to remember. She saw how Samuel pushed John back, hand balled in a fist hitting him straight across the face. 

She recalled a few moments from the whole disaster, even though it was hard for her to understand it all. 

John certainly didn’t plan to hold back, returning Samuel’s blows with surprising strength, his face a grimace of wrath. At first, they seemed to be at an impasse until Sam kicked John in the knee, making him stagger backward before delivering a punishing blow to his face. If anything, that seemed to make John even angrier, as he wiped his face with the back of his hand, his hair a mess.

And then everything was a blur.

She saw John throwing Samuel across a table, glasses shattering as they hit the floor, wine spilling onto the wood, soon to be mixed with blood spitting from Samuel’s mouth. John crawled on top of him, hitting him relentlessly, face a grimace of anger.

Deborah screamed at him to stop, hands covering her mouth in shock. Yet she couldn’t tear her eyes away from it all.

The locals jumped into the fight soon enough, as if itching for any sort of excuse to do so, using it as an opportunity to settle their own underlying feuds with each other. A pair of them were able to separate the two young men, grabbing John by his coat, the delicate fabric giving way under the violent touch.

John’s lip was bleeding, blood dripping from his mouth from when Samuel punched him earlier, his eyes a furious mix of anger and annoyance. “You destroyed my coat!” He threw himself onto the pair of locals with a reckless abandon. Sam saw his opportunity and aided them, punching John across the back of his head.

Deborah screamed.

In the background, the saloon turned into a war field. Someone broke a glass of water over a man’s head. A chair flew across the room. The shattering of glass echoed through the shouting. It was almost as if she found herself in a completely different world, animalistic and chaotic, a complete opposite from the peaceful evening it was just a few minutes ago. 

It was bizarre and strangely terrifying how people jumped onto the simplest of excuses to cause violence. Later on, Deborah wondered whether it was saloon fights like this one that turned people into furious monsters or whether they always carried that inherent anger inside them, waiting for the proverbial glass of water to spill.

John became overwhelmed, trashing on the floor as Samuel and two other men took turns in punching and kicking him, his pretty face a smear of blood and spit. It seemed some people had unresolved issues with the prestigious bank owner despite his high standing, or because of it, or maybe they just itched for a fight. If crawling on top of a man, kicking into his ribs while your friends hold him in place, could be viewed as a fight. 

“Ah! Not the face! NOT THE FACE!” John screamed. “It’s my most valuable asset!”

Did he actually say that? Nevertheless, Deborah threw herself onto the nearest standing gentleman, grabbing him by his shoulder. “Let him go! He’s had enough!”

She screamed as the man turned around, grabbing her by her hair. She wriggled in his grasp, almost to no effect, until she managed to find his foot, stomping it with her heel, _ hard_. He let out an angry swear and his grip loosened, enough for her to turn around and, with all-so-unusual anguish, kick him right in his - oh God above us - crotch. His eyes watered shamefully as he bent over, screaming obscenities at her in between gritted teeth. He tried to leap towards her, grasping her by her hand, but Deborah, still finding it hard to believe what she's doing, grabbed him by the back of his head, bringing his nose right towards her knee. Did she hear a snap? She definitely heard a high-pitched scream. The man hid his face in his hands, whimpering as trails of blood began dripping through his fingers. Deborah, as if finally realizing what she has done, looked at the man in horror and gasped, covering her mouth.

"Oh God! _ I'm so sorry _!"

"Don't apologize to him, dammit!" John yelled at her, suddenly appearing by her side and grabbing her by her hand. The two made the run for it. [◼]

* * *

They collapsed in an alleyway at the edge of the town, hidden by the shadows of the towering houses above their heads, the commotion in the saloon a distant echo on their minds.

They took a while to catch their breath, panting. Deborah bent over, clasping her knees. “I can’t believe it…”

John cleaned the blood from his face with the back of his hand. He looked at his torn coat, wincing. His damaged clothing seemed to bother him much more than the blood dripping from his lip. “Yeah,” he said, peering at the fabric. “Those_ savages_. I liked this coat. Black suits me so well.”

Deborah shot him a curious glance, but he didn’t seem to notice. “I mean, not as much as blue does, naturally, but it’s elegant and simple.”

“John.”

“I mean, I have other coats, of course, but still… those _ brutes _!”

“_ John _.”

He finally seemed to notice her judging look and raised an eyebrow. “What?”

She blinked incredulously. “I just _ hit _a man.”

He nodded. “Yeah, you did. That was quite _ amazing_, mind you.” 

“In the _ face _.”

“Uhm.”

She threw her hands in the air. “With my _ knee _!”

John let out a chuckle - it could be a dashing image were it not for his beaten face. “And rightfully so. Better him than you, don’t you think?”

She shook her head energetically. “N-no, you don’t get it! I’m not like_ that_! I don’t do things like _ this _!”

He looked at her for a long while then winced, as if suddenly remembering his wounds. “He was going to hurt you, you know that.”

She put a hand to her face, thinking. “Maybe, but I don’t think he deserved all that.”

He chuckled, yet his voice skipped a beat. John pressed a hand to his side in pain but quickly removed it as if the action made the pain worse. “Oh, my_ dear_. Trust me, he had something much worse in mind for you.”

Deborah gave him a stern look. “And how can you know that?”

“I… ah, well…” For the first time, John seemed to stumble upon his own words. It was a surprising sight, but so was his behavior in the saloon that evening. “Let’s just say I might have gotten quite_ intimately close _to this lady he used to fancy and he wanted to pay me back in kind. Since…” he looked at her with an unspoken apology on his face, “since what I’ve told Sam about us today.”

“Oh.” Deborah looked at her hands. She paused for a moment, an unspoken silence hanging above their heads like a personification of a hard-to-swallow food getting stuck in the throat. “I see.” She bit her lip. “Why did you say it, anyway?”

He attempted for a defensive tone but failed, giving his pain-stricken posture. “To get rid of him.”

She found it hard to believe that. “He was going to apologize!”

He made a face. It was unclear whether out of annoyance or pain. “Oh c’mon! He wasn’t going to do anything like that! If he ever wanted to apologize to you he wouldn’t show up late, stinking of booze!”

She pondered over his words but decided to come back at him. “You didn’t have to hit him.”

“He hit_ me _first! You saw it!”

“Because you _ provoked _him!”

“_ Shh _!” He put a finger to her lips, earning a look of surprise from her. “You can be angry with me all you want, but please don’t shout at me outside. I don’t want them on our heels.”

She made a sad smile. “Oh right? You didn’t seem to be all too bothered with what people think back there.”

He sighed, looking at the ground before meeting her eyes again. “You are right. I messed up. Can we maybe continue this inside, however?” Then the all-too-familiar grin spread on his face, despite his predicament. “I could certainly use a drink after this. And you? You seem quite shaken, are you alright?”

She nodded. “I’m fine… and thank you. Laying low for a while sounds like a good idea right now.”

“_ Perfect_. My place?” He spread his hands in a welcoming gesture, but winced in pain, darting his fingers across his side.

Deborah shot him a worried look. “Are _ you _alright?”

He waved her question away, attempting to replace his grimace with a suave smile, yet it was clear he was suffering. “Just a nasty bruise here and there. I’ll live. Now, shall we go?”

* * *

They arrived in the spacious living room illuminated by the antler-like chandeliers, shadows dancing on the wooden floor. John gestured for Deborah to sit into a comfortable-looking couch while he followed suit, a bit too clumsy for his usual smooth demeanor.

“Now, _ that’s _more like it,” John said with a smile, stretching his legs out and laying his arm across the back of the couch, nearly touching her shoulder, and wincing from the effort. 

Deborah shot him a worried gaze. “Are you sure you are alright?”

“Yeah, it’s just a bruise. I’m fine.” He tried to brush her concerned look away by a suave smile. “Now, I believe I still owe you a dance, m’lady.”

She blinked at him in surprise. “Are you serious? Right now?”

“I said I’m fine, didn’t I?”

She shook her head, sighing. “You know I’d love to dance with you, but you’re in no position for that now, despite what you’re saying. Maybe later, yes, but you’re clearly hurt, John.”

He frowned in annoyance, crossing his legs. “I really am okay,” he lied and she could almost believe him. But she wasn’t exactly convinced by his tone, or how he attempted a dashing smile but failed. “Maybe we should get a look at it nonetheless? May I?”

She moved closer to him, hesitating for a second, eyes looking for permission met with a playful glint in his gaze. Deborah reached out to his velvet shirt and earned a chuckle from him as a response. 

“Oh right _ here_, right _ now_, my dear?” John smirked as she worked her way through the buttons, getting a stern look from her as she rolled her eyes at him. 

“John!”

He bit his lip, grinning at her viciously. “Hmm, _ yes_, love when you say my name, baby.”

She let out a laugh and shook her head. “I can’t believe you sometimes.”

“Maybe because I’m _ unbelievably _amazing.”

She disregarded his comment, finishing her work, gazing at his bare chest, the bruise at his side already getting a nasty shade of blue. 

“Damn, that really looks bad. It’s got to hurt a lot.”

He shivered under her touch, her fingers darting across his skin gently. “Hmm, now that you mention it, I do feel quite sore_ all over _my body. Maybe you want to take a look as well? With your hands, preferably.” 

She shook her head, smiling, sitting straight. “If you can make comments like this, you certainly seem fine to me.” She brought a handkerchief, wiping the blood from his lip gently. 

He tilted his head to the side, a playful grin on his face. “So will we get the drink then, at least?”

She decided to humor him. “Alright then.”

“Right at it, my lady!” He stood up carefully, not even bothering to button his shirt back, walking towards the alcohol cabinet in the corner of the room. “Now… what shall we have.” He picked up a bottle and two glasses. “Will whiskey do?”

Deborah nodded and waited for him to pour the glasses.

“Now, to us! For surviving today.” He said when he was done.

“To us,” she said absentmindedly, raising her glass to meet his. She downed it in a few gulps, feeling the warmth spread through her body, already feeling her head starting to spin slightly. She wasn’t very used to alcohol.

John seemed to notice it, giving her a sideways glance. “You don’t drink much, huh?”

“Not really,” she admitted. “Not many occasions for it, anyway.” 

He nodded, sprawling himself back in the couch, bringing his hand across her shoulder, hands drawing gentle patterns across her skin. He hummed something for himself, seemingly lost in his thoughts.

Deborah turned his head to face him after a while, deciding to break the silence. “For someone who cares a great deal for his reputation, you don’t seem to be bothered too much by what happened.”

He smiled, setting the glass on the table. “Don’t worry about me. I can get it back easily. Though I admit, this _ might _be slightly bad for business.”

She raised an eyebrow. “How do you plan to get it back?”

“Well…” he winked. “Sam was the one who hit me first, everyone saw that. Or I _ will _make sure the rumors will state such.”

“Oh…” she looked at her hands. “You mean you will pay the locals to keep quiet.”

“Hmm, not really. A lot of people owe me favors. That’s a bank business for you. Let’s just say that the success of other people depends on my own.” He gave her a mysterious smile. “I will make sure you will be kept out of it though, don’t worry.”

She sighed in relief. “Thank you. I already have rumors floating around me and how my ranch is cursed. Certainly don’t need to add a saloon brawl to the list.”

He nodded, pouring himself another drink. “I understand that. Especially after everything we’ve been through so far. You want some too?”

She shook her head. “Had enough drinking and excitement today, thank you.”

John let out a quiet laugh and took a sip from his drink. “I imagine you don’t get into saloon brawls often.”

She shot him a curious gaze. “I thought you didn’t as well.”

“I don’t,” he said, resting the cup back at the table, turning his gaze back on her. “Usually, I mean. But you’ve seen this one was hardly my fault.”

She chuckled. “You provoked Samuel well enough and you know it.”

He shrugged, smiling unapologetically. “I admit that might be true, but at least he won’t be bothering you again. And that’s a win, no?”

“Violence isn’t always the best answer,” she couldn’t help saying, looking at her hands. “The only thing violence has ever achieved was creating even more violence.”

“I know,” John said, turning around to face her fully, crossing his legs in a casual manner. “I _ know _what violence can achieve. Trust me.” There was something about how he said that, not in a way to wave her concern away, but with an utter sincerity, hiding away at something buried deep inside his heart. Or maybe not as deep as he’d wanted.

“If you do, why did you do this?” She asked softly, with a hint of concern. She wasn’t judging him, she was asking - even though she knew the answer. _ She wasn’t judging him _… John stared at her with unmasked surprise in his eyes for a second, unable to respond for a moment.

“I…” He looked at his feet, biting at his lip before meeting her eyes again. “I get carried away sometimes. You know how it is sometimes, keep a boiling pot under pressure for long and it spills,” he let out a sad chuckle. “I’m not trying to absolve myself in your eyes or anything.”

He searched for disappointment in her gaze and found none. And then he did something unbelievable.

“I’m sorry,” he said and he meant it. “What I did today was a mistake. I’m sorry.” Again? Just who she was? He never apologized to anyone, didn’t feel like he should. But there was something about her that made him fear her disappointment. He wanted to appear perfect in her eyes even though he never had trouble achieving the same effect with other people. Was he afraid of losing her? She wasn’t even_ his _to lose in the first place. 

Deborah was quiet for a while. She understood, she knew what just happened, laying a palm atop his hand. “Thank you.”

She didn’t say she wasn’t angry. She didn’t say it was okay because it wasn’t. In fact, he never really wanted her to. But the way she said those words, looking into his eyes… She_ knew _even before he said anything and he felt something in him broke. She knew because - and he realized that with a shock as if it hit him straight across the face - she has been through something like that too. 

“When did it happen? The anger problem?” She asked, giving him a sideways glance. “Were your_ parents _too… you know?”

“Yes,” he nodded. “Are you sure you want to hear about it? It’s not very pleasant.”

“Only if _ you _don’t mind telling me.”

“Right, well… I will need another drink for this.” He poured himself a full glass, emptying it in one swift motion before looking back at her. “Where do I even start…”  
“You said that your parents…” She stared, giving him a helpful look, her voice soft as if she was threading at the edge of a knife for asking him about this. 

[[ ► ](https://open.spotify.com/track/17teVjKfVkaMt16wNjURW2?si=MerCDYh1T5Oh560nD5puLw) ] And she was, in a sense, John thought, balancing at the verge of a crevice that was his past. He knew the feeling, he was going through it every single day. Sometimes it was easier, sometimes the darkness seemed to be more powerful, raw, like the stinging burn of a flaming coal pressed against the skin, like the smoking bullet just as it leaves the gun. Like the shocking touch of cat’s fur on hot days; smooth like sin, yet heavy like a lump inside the throat. And sometimes, like that day, it was burning like fire, propelled by the blazing wrath of his deeply buried anger, begging to be set free and to destroy. Because that was what he always did in the end, no? _ Destroy_.

He smiled to himself, realizing he was about to do the same with her. Revealing himself to her, his bare chest now a metaphor for the much scarier affirmation of his true self. Maybe that was for the better, after all. He never really could have her, in the end.

“My parents,” John started talking, his voice quiet, yet firm as if he waited way too long to speak about this as if he spent all his life talking but he was seldom ever heard. And now, he knew what exactly to say. “My parents were the ones who taught me about anger.” He looked at his hands, pausing for a second. “My father especially. Joseph will tell you I was a good child, full of love and joy,” he smirked. “Nothing like what I’m now. My father saw me for who I was,” he continued on, the perverted version of a smile on his face. “A bad seed. Full of sin and wrongness. And mother? She was no better. They taught me the lesson of pain, of how it absolves guilt. Of how it sets one free,” his voice cracked, yet he wanted to continue on. He needed to. “They would throw me to the ground, for no other reason but for ‘being born wrong’. And sometimes, when I had enough courage to ask why, the answer would be ‘in case you commit a sin tomorrow’.” He got himself another drink, emptying it just as quickly as the one before, speaking more surely now. “My parents really did care a lot about this whole sin business. They were very religious, you see.”

Deborah decided to speak, her hand on his a reassuring presence of warmth and comfort. “They weren’t.”

“Hm?”

“They weren’t religious.”

He seemed confused. “But the Bible…”

Her face was resolute, unabated, such a mixture of ferocious resolve and raw, brutal kindness he had never seen before. “The Bible doesn’t order parents to hit their children in order to keep them from sinning.”

John shrugged. “My parents didn't see it that way. They would ask me every day about all the sins I committed. With time, I started to make them up, knowing I will be punished anyway. And silence was never an answer to them. They saw it as their calling - keeping us all in check. Oh yes,” he nodded, “my brothers too. But maybe I got the worst of it since I was the youngest and too silly to understand. Or maybe that was my blessing.”

Deborah’s heart broke. “How did you survive it?”

He chuckled again, holding her hand now firmly. “Father got locked up and mother lost her head in drinking. Or so they say. I never really found out what happened to her. I went to a prestigious academy, got rich as heels and bought a bank,” he bared his teeth at her with a vicious smile. “The epitome of success. But Samuel was wrong. Everyone in time grows to fear me, but they never love me. Their affection is a masked terror, out of fear they could get on my bad side. In a way, maybe I should be thankful to my parents.”

“You know that’s not true, John,” she looked him in the eyes, the same resolve in her voice as before. And then: “I’m so sorry. I know it means nothing, but…”

He shook his head, holding onto her, fearing his grip might be way too strong but finding it hard to let go. “It means a lot.”

They were silent for a while before she started to speak again. “My father was a bit like that too. My situation wasn’t as bad as yours but I get where you are coming from.”

“I know.”

She shot him a confused gaze. “You do?”

He nodded, his smile fading. “You instinctively knew there was something wrong with my childhood. What do they say? It takes one to know one.”

“Oh, right. Thing is, he has never really hurt me.” She admitted. “But he was a terrible alcoholic. He and mom argued a lot,” she looked at her hands, finding it hard to speak. “I used to run away to my grandparents, couldn’t bear to be at the house no more when he came home. In a way, I blame myself for leaving mother alone with him.”

“You were a child,” John’s voice was surprisingly soft. “It’s not your fault.”

She nodded, though he was unsure whether she took his words to heart. “Father used to owe a lot of money, we lost our house, it was awful. Were it not for uncle Aden, I don’t know what we’d do.”

“You really cared about your uncle.”

“I _ loved _ my uncle.” She said, her voice shaking. “He helped us get back on our feet, he was always so kind to us, even though he himself was a broken man. That’s why everything that’s been happening to us seems so surreal. I can’t imagine my uncle turning into that… that _ thing_.”

She stopped, holding back a sob. John beckoned for her to come closer to him, wrapping her in his arms. “That monster is_ not _your uncle. Maybe it used to be in life, but not anymore.”

“I know,” she said softly. “I will try to remember him how he truly was.”

“That’s what he deserves.”  
They sat like that for what appeared like ages, John gently rocking her in his arms, his warm chest and the sound of his beating heart a reassuring presence to her. She found it easy to close her eyes, listening to his calm breathing, carried away by his gentle touches. Maybe she was just tired but she hasn’t felt this calm in ages.

“Are you asleep?” John asked after a while, his voice low.

“Not yet,” she murmured in response. “But I fear it won’t take long.”

He caressed her shoulder softly. “Should we go to sleep, then?”

She lifted her head up, gazing into his eyes, a smile on her lips. “Spending another night at your place again? People might start to gossip.”

He smirked. “I’m willing to risk that.” [◼]

* * *

John couldn’t sleep. He was holding her in his arms, unsure if she was asleep or just quiet, the silk bed sheets pressed comfortably against his skin.

She turned away, giving him the answer, eyes searching for his in the dim light of the single candle. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes,” he lied. “Just still a bit sore after everything that happened today.”

He wasn’t talking just about the beating and she knew that. “Is there anything I could do?”

“It’s alright,” he said again. “Don’t worry your pretty head over me.”

She batted her eyelashes at him. “Pretty?”

He smirked. “That’s what I said.”

She felt so soft in his arms. “What are friends for if not to worry?”

John raised an eyebrow. “‘Friends’? Is that what we are?”

Her body tensed, just for a moment there, as she suddenly averted his gaze. “I mean… friends usually don’t share a bed holding each other like that, but I feel that is the most applicable term.” She bit her lip. “Thing is I am not sure yet.”

He pulled her closer to him, resting his cheek on the top of her head, his lips pressed slightly to her hair. “That is probably what we should talk about, hm? In the morning.”

“Mhm,” she nodded, with a hint of doubt in her voice. She chose to ignore it, however, taking solace in the warmth of his embrace. She cupped his cheek, stroking it gently, earning a smile and a hum of approval from him. Maybe being this kind of _ friends _was enough for her. 

“You have the most gentle touch,” John said after a while, eyes laced with warmth.

She felt her cheeks redden for a second, fingers running patterns across his skin. “Thank you.”

He tried to pull her closer to him but let out a grimace as she accidentally brushed her free hand across his bruise.

“Oh! I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, I deserve that one.” He smirked. “As well as the lack of sleep.”

She paused for a moment, thinking. She opened her mouth, then quickly closed it as if deciding against speaking at the last moment.

“Hm?” John raised an eyebrow. “You wanted to say something?”

“It’s silly.”

He smiled. “I’m sure it’s not.”

She bit her lip - a bit of a dirty habit of hers, as he noticed in the last few days. “There’s a song. A really nice one my mom used to sing for me when I was little and couldn’t fall asleep.”

He smiled wide, clearly pleased with this. “Are you offering to sing me to sleep?”

Deborah closed her eyes, shaking her head. “Forget it, it’s silly, just as I said--”

She was interrupted by the pull of his arms and a gentle kiss on her forehead. “Please.” His voice was quiet. “Sing to me.”

“I need to be laying on my back for that,” she said, moving away from his embrace and gesturing for him to rest his head on her chest. 

“Is it okay like this?” He asked. “Am I not too much in the way?”

“It’s fine,” she said with a smile, running her fingers through his hair. John purred with pleasure as she did so, closing his eyes, arms holding her tight.

“I’m ready.” He whispered.

Deborah had a soft, pleasing voice. He had the opportunity to listen to her before, of course - she was always singing while working. It helped her focus, or so she said, and would often hum absentmindedly when they rode together. But this was the first time she ever sang anything for him and for him only. 

He never heard the song before but it was calm and melancholic, about the wanderlust of a lonely traveler charting the wildlands of America, sleeping under his hat as he walked through the desert, getting the much-needed rest after his toils and troubles. He was alone yet he wasn’t entirely lonely, for the land and the people he met offered many a story to keep him warm during the nights. And when he closed his eyes he traveled countless fantastic countries, so vivid and full of the longing of his long-lost former lives. 

John found himself slipping to unconsciousness through the soft melody of her low voice, even though he didn’t want to. He could listen to her the entire night if he could, getting lost in her singing, the way her chest vibrated under his ear, her skin warm under his touch. 

The song ended with a gentle touch, the melody still hanging in the air like a pleasant memory.

John opened his eyes. “It was beautiful.”

She smiled. “I’m so happy you liked it. Do you feel at least a bit better?”

“Mhm,” he murmured. “I feel _ great_.”

“I will let you rest, then,” she said gently, removing her palm from his hair to let him sleep.

John let out a noise of disapproval. “_ Please_. Continue.”

It was so unusual for him to be like this. Holding onto her, eyes closed from drowsiness, frowning slightly as he missed her touch.

“Of course,” she let out a soft chuckle, stroking his hair gently. “Better now?”

He nodded, pulling her closer. “_Much _ better.”

She yawned, feeling the presence of sleep creeping onto her slowly. “Good night, John.”

“..._ Debbie_,” he murmured, already half asleep.

She smiled, her fingers running through his hair as she closed her eyes. She wasn’t exactly sure what they were at that point, but as she drifted to the soft oblivion of sleep, she knew she would have no trouble getting used to this.


	6. Not Mine To Lose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Deborah has some doubts about the mysterious events she has experienced; John tries to speak openly about his feelings, yet what he has to say is not of a cheerful kind. Meanwhile, trouble is brewing, as someone not entirely welcome makes another appearance.

_ “A brawl took place in Saloon Eden last night. Samuel Callahan, son of the owner of the Callahan ranch, was seen staging a fight with John Seed, owner of the Hope’s Peak Bank. Details of the conflict are not yet known, but witnesses claim the two gentlemen caught up in a scrap over an anonymous young woman. Fights are not known to happen in Hope’s Peak regularly and it’s still uncertain what effect will such behavior have on the business of the Callahan ranch, or even the bank despite the usual high esteem mister Seed is held in. Witnesses claim, however, it was the young mister Callahan who started the fight, perhaps a result of an ongoing feud. When attempting to get a statement from him, he couldn’t be found at home, and actively eluded our attempts at contacting him.” _

— Saloon Brawl in Eden, “Hope’s Peak Weekly”

* * *

She was aware she was dreaming. Walking barefoot through the scorched grass, small fires dancing along her path, blazing footprints in the ground. She didn’t know why she followed that path, but she didn’t have a choice. Something about it pulled her in, just as much as the flaming wound in her hand blazed with warmth - not pain, but with a clear demand for her to follow.

It was a quiet town, asleep or dead; if there was much difference between the two in a world like this. Gentle wind played with her hair, carrying foreign voices whispering in her ear. She couldn’t make their words and despite the eerie presence, she felt calm at heart, if only on high alert. She knew it was just a dream. Or was it?

The church stood proudly in the center of the scenery, white walls sharp against the sun, the facade peeling at the corners like a sad reminder of a long-forgotten glory. It was empty and full at the same time. She peered inside, gazing at the figures covered in white cloth, recognizing them from before. She knew better than to peer under the fabric now, despite the inner urge telling her otherwise.

She followed the eerie whispers in her ear, walking forward, her feet echoing through the silence with the shrillness of a raw, pure soul treading at the edge of time. A distant sound rose through the air - bells? She turned her head towards it, gazing through the opened door of the church.

There, amidst the sunlight, stood the man, his dark figure blazing with fire. She tried to gasp with shock, yet she couldn’t make any sound. He started walking towards her, his footsteps setting the wood on fire, dancing flames consuming the screaming world around him.

The ghosts in the pews slowly turned their head in unison. Deborah screamed.

* * *

She was stirred by the gentle kiss of the sun rays upon her skin, opening her eyes, trying to shrug off the distant touch of sleep. Deborah rolled around in the bed, the soft fabric of the bedsheets a comforting presence. Yet she found the place next to her empty. She supported herself on her elbows, scanning the room. John was clearly up and about - just how long has she slept? She peered through the opened windows, the sun was already high. Was she really that tired yesterday? Could be, she has been through a lot.

Over the course of the past few days, she has witnessed more inexplicable events than she could ever fear to be a part of in her entire life. And yet, nothing could quite prepare her for what she saw when she closed her eyes. And as she opened her eyelids, she wished she could make her demons run.

Gently removing the blanket she sat up, blinking shortly, adjusting to the light. After a moment she stood up, approached the mirror in the corner of the room and gave it one or two criticizing looks. Her hair was a mess, as was expected. A brush laid on the bedside table, from the night before yesterday. She gave her hair a few strokes, tying her front strands behind with a ribbon, ginger locks shining in the midday sun.

Barefoot, she tip-toed through the room, opening the door to peer into the long hallway.

“I’m telling you, I don’t have time right now,” John said, not hiding the annoyance in his voice.

“It’s just a few minutes,” a man responded, never the less frustrated. “We really need your statement, you were _ there _ . Don’t you want the town to know what _ exactly _ happened?”

Deborah walked to the end of the hallway, peeking into the living room. The front door was opened ajar, letting in the fresh summer breeze. She recognized one of the newspaper reporters, a dark-haired man in his thirties with a resolute expression on his face.

“As I said,” John kept on, “I don’t have time right now. I’m in the middle of something here.”

“But—”

“I will come to your office in a minute, how’s that sound? I'll talk to your boss directly.”

The reporter gave him a doubtful look. “I don’t see why you wouldn’t be able to talk to me right_ now_. I mean, it would save you the trip, sir!”

John let out a sigh. “My time is extremely valuable and I sure as hell won’t waste it on explaining the meticulous details of my business schedule to you. Go and tell your boss I’ll be there soon.”

The reporter opened his mouth to speak, but being met with John’s angered gaze, he decided against it quickly. “As you wish, sir,” he said resentfully in a tone that made it clear he certainly didn’t wish to waste_ his _time arguing with self-important rich dudes, and with the tip of his hat hastily left.

“What was that about?” Deborah asked when they remained alone.

John jumped a little, only now realizing she was around. “My, you are awake! Hope I didn’t wake you up.”

“It’s okay,” she brushed his concern away. “Why didn’t you want to give him your statement?”

“Ah, well,” John brushed his hair, flashing her his classic grin. “I will not give him my statement, but I will talk to the owner of the newspaper. He _ knows _ me.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You will pay him to alter what will be printed.”

“I thought you didn’t want your name smeared in the paper yesterday? Or am I mistaken?”

She shook her head. “No, you are right. It just all feels so dishonest.”

He let out a short laugh. “I will only make sure they won’t print lies about me,” he gave her a long look. “Or you.”

He moved closer, taking her by the hand, examining her bandages. “How did you sleep? How is your arm?”

She gave him a smile. “I slept well. All too well, actually. Looks like it’s noon already.”

He chuckled. “Not yet, but it won’t be long. I was arranging lunch for us when the reporter disturbed me. It should be more or less ready in the kitchen. Feel free to help yourself to anything else in the meantime.”

She shot him a puzzled look. “You won’t have anything?”

“Not yet. Have to rush into the newspaper office right now,” he grinned. “Better to handle these things as soon as possible.”

She nodded. “I’ll wait for you, then.”

“Ah, no need for that! You must be hungry. Really,” he smiled, “please don’t worry about me.”

“I’m not worrying,” she lied. “I’m not that hungry yet. _ Really_,” she repeated his own words, “I can wait a little longer.”

He pondered over her words as if questioning whether he should try to persuade her more. Either he was way too pressed for time or her smile warmed his resolution. He leaned down a little to kiss her on the forehead. “I’ll be back soon.”

“I know,” she said with content in her voice. And then: “Maybe we can talk afterward?”

“Oh, yes,” his smile faltered for a second as if remembering something unpleasant. It resurfaced just as quickly, like a star that flickers shortly at night. “We certainly can. Until then—” He put on his black velvet hat, tipped it towards her with a suave smirk and left, closing the doors behind him.

Deborah chose to occupy herself until he came back. She opened the massive wooden doors leading to the kitchen, finding the dining table already neatly prepared. Did he actually prepare it all himself or had his cook handle it? Nobody else was around, that was sure, but maybe they just preferred to stay out of the house when they didn’t have any direct business there. She opened the windows and peeked outside, breathing in the fresh air. The ranch was already alive; a couple of farmhands were leading horses out of the stables. It reminded her of her own ranch, and how absent she has been from it these days. She trusted Felix, despite knowing him for such a short time, but the man seemed capable enough; he certainly had much more experience with running a ranch than her. Not that she would hold it against her uncle, him deciding to leave the ranch to her. She certainly knew her mother had no desire to take care of it, suggesting Deborah would make a better owner instead. _ Despite having no experience whatsoever_, she thought, as she collapsed into a chair closest to the windows. She knew her mother well, however, and was certain it was just a way of Mary Ann to show her own daughter she indeed has to stop doubting herself and go out and do things. An opinion she shared with her brother, as it turned out in the end.

Deborah sighed. Silent memories swam through her head - of her uncle before everything happened. She felt the stinging pain in her arm and frowned, it was a high time she changed her bandages. Yet she couldn’t help but remember vividly the scenes that happened just two nights ago. The burned man, his incandescent touch, eyes blazing into the night. She shuddered at the mere thought of that… _ thing _being her uncle. She remembered him well. He was broken and lost, but he wasn’t evil. Tried his damnedest to be kind to people who still cared, despite his bleeding heart. She refused to remember him as a monster, no… it’s_ impossible _. And she would do everything in her power to fight that memory.

_ At least it’s all resolved now_, she thought, maybe in an attempt to lie to herself. She saw Jacob shoot the apparition, she saw it fell down the cliff. There is no way he could walk away from that.

_ Or is it? _

She wasn’t sure how long she has been pondering the recent events, but she was stirred from her thoughts by John entering the room with an all-too-familiar pleased look on his face. She wondered how he could be so cheerful despite everything. But then, as she looked closer, there was something amiss in his expression. Maybe it was the way he took off his hat, sighing, or how the blue gaze of his eyes flickered for a moment.

“Is everything alright?”

“Oh, the newspaper business?” He nodded, sitting down, already reaching for a plate to put food on. “Yes, it’s been dealt with. Your name won’t appear in the paper, made sure of that.” Then, seeing as she hasn’t started eating yet: “You really waited for me.”

She smiled. “Of course, I told you so.”

“Well, no time to waste now,” he winked at her, already slicing his portion with a hungry look. “_ Bon appetit_, m’lady!”

“Thank you,” she said, following suit, only now realizing she indeed was quite hungry.

John was silent for a while, something unusual for him. She was so used to his chatter by now, it felt amiss for him to have nothing to say. Not that she was uncomfortable, she enjoyed his silence just as much as she enjoyed his talks, but there was something about the way he carried himself, she couldn’t help but worry.

Not that she hadn’t her own worries to ponder on from before.

John noticed her look and stopped eating for a second. “Something amiss? Is the food alright?”

“Oh, yes! It’s perfect,” she attempted a smile. “Nothing to complain about, really.”

“Well, _ma_ _chérie_, something clearly is wrong,” he said with a thoughtful expression, setting his cutlery aside. “Is it still about yesterday?”

She looked down at her plate, closed her eyes, then looked up again. “John, do you think the ranch is cursed? Like... _ really _ cursed?”

He blinked in surprise. “What do you mean? I thought you didn’t believe those tales.”

She sighed. “I didn’t… I _ don’t_. But after what happened… What we heard from miss Rose and mister Felix, I can’t help but wonder,” she looked at him as if afraid he will call her crazy. “What if there are things around us we just can’t explain? I mean, we’ve seen enough proof of that already. I really wish for it all to have a reasonable explanation, I really do. I just…” She stopped, unable to find the correct words. She shot him a worried look, as if afraid he might turn her down for being superstitious, no different from all the people spreading the rumors.

His voice was soft. “Keep talking.”

She felt more at ease with his eyes focused on her, without a glint of doubt or prejudice in them. “I had a really strange dream right after the man from the cemetery hit me. I had it today as well, but this time it was a bit different.”

John completely abandoned his plate, listening to her intently. “What happened in the dream?”

“I… _ met _him. The burned man. I know dreams are just reflections of what happened to us during the day, so it’s more likely my mind is just trying to find sense in all of this,” she shrugged, biting at her lower lip. “But for some reason… this dream was different. I knew I was dreaming. And yes, I know that’s normal, but it almost felt as if I was truly_ there_, almost as if I was conscious. And for some reason, I have a sense it happened in a real place, in…” she paused, still searching for doubt in his eyes, but finding none, “… in Devil’s Point.”

“Devil’s Point?” John raised an eyebrow. “Have you ever been there?”

“No,” she shook her head. “Not the safest of places. But I see it from the distance on my way to the ranch. There is a church there, in the center of the village. Do you know it?”

He nodded. “Of course. I haven’t been there myself, but it’s a pretty distinctive landmark. So,” he paused, “is that where your dream took place?”

“Yes,” she shot him a worried gaze. “I know how this all must sound, you probably think me crazy--”

“Never thought you were,” he interrupted her gently.

“Thank you,” she said quietly. “I just… with everything going on, I need at least something _ secure_, something to put my mind at ease so it’ll stop screaming at me.”

He looked her in the eyes with a smile. “Do you want to go there? To the church? To see it out for yourself? Maybe when you see that it’s perfectly ordinary, you can sleep better.”

She was honestly surprised by his kind offer. “You’d do that for me?”

“Of course,” he didn’t hesitate for a second. “_ Anything _.” Then: “Would you like to go there today? Right after lunch?”

“That sounds like a good idea,” she admitted. “But first, we should stop at the ranch, I need to change my bandages.”

“Naturally!” John said, as if only now remembering she was still injured. “I must look like the opposite of a gentleman right now, not thinking about your predicament.”

She smiled shortly over the strange wording he chose. “Don’t worry, it’s not the end of the world. Besides, you can be a perfect gentleman riding with me there. And then we can go straight to Devil’s Point.”

He winked at her, regaining his composure. “Sounds like a good plan to me, m’lady.”

* * *

They arrived at Ellsworth ranch shorty before the afternoon had the chance to bloom, sun shining brightly, incandescent rays hitting the ground. Mister Ross seemed visibly relieved with the arrival of Deborah, claiming he heard about the saloon brawl that took place the previous night.

“Seems word travels fast,” John remarked bitterly when he handed Emperor’s reins to the horse master. “Just tie the horses outside, will you be so kind, mister Ross?” Debbie asked with a smile. “We will be leaving soon.”

“Naturally,” Ross nodded, then paused, giving them a look of worry. “Any more trouble brewing?”

“Quite the opposite,” John said with confidence. “If we have our way, we’ll bring one particular trouble to an end.”

“That’s good,” Ross said as he led their horses away, “we could really use less trouble around here.”

“Preach to that, old man,” John tipped his hat towards him as he left, then turned his head to Debbie. “So… talk?”

She sighed, trying to hide the worry in her voice. “Talk. There’s a nice place, not too far away from the ranch. Shall we?”

He nodded, with a smile. “Lead the way.”

It was a majestic tree. Clearly older than the ranch itself, the oak towered above the grass like a silent wise woman. It wasn’t too far away from the ranch, but enough to drown the hustle and bustle of the every-day work. The plains ran far and wide, the buzzing of insects and the chirping of birds a gentle song carried by the wind.

“I go here sometimes, to clear my head,” Debbie said as she sat down in the shade of the tree, beckoning for John to follow. “It’s a good spot for painting, too.”

He leaned against the trunk next to her, bringing her closer so she could lean into his shoulder. “You don’t like it at your atelier?”

“Aw, I love it there!” She said with a glint in her eyes. “But I love painting the plains from here. I have also started working on a painting of the ranch too. Will maybe hang it in the main hall once I’m done.”

John looked at the ranch from there - it appeared idyllic and peaceful; he could recognize some of the farmhands hurrying around the grounds. “That sounds like a great idea. I’d love to see it.”

“Of course you can!” She was so full of joy while talking about her passion - something he found out before. Something that made him feel proud of her, for some unknown reason. Why? She wasn’t_ his _ to be proud of.

They sat together in silence for a while, before she straightened up and moved a bit so she could gaze into his eyes. “So… what did you want to talk about?”

Oh. There it is. He wasn’t ready. Ridiculous, he knew this time would come, and yet… “I think you know.”

He paused. Sighed, opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again. He looked at her face, as if searching for courage, and then: “You are an amazing woman, Debbie.”

“Oh no,” she wasn’t thrilled. There was no sign of happiness in her eyes. And he knew why.

“Let me finish. Please,” he took her hand, intertwining their fingers together.

He should have kissed her. That star-filled evening when the air was filled with bliss. He should have kissed her, surrendering to the soft touch of her lips and think about it all afterward. He certainly had no trouble doing just that with other people before. Why was she different?

He closed his eyes, letting his heart do the talking. He looked her in the eyes, refusing to turn his gaze away just yet. She deserved as much. “You are so incredibly radiant, so warm and kind. No one…” he sighed, partially with relief, partially with sadness. “No one has ever shown me so much kindness as you did. You are beautiful and I wish I would have kissed you,” he meant that. He meant every single thing he said and was about to say. “You deserve only the best in your life. Someone who will support you, appreciate you for who you are. Someone who’ll make you happy because all you do is make people’s life warm. I know you made_ me _a happy man during the short time we’ve been working together. You deserve someone good. Someone,” he closed his eyes, “someone who isn’t me.”

Her palm felt heavy in his grasp. “What do you mean?”

“I… hurt people. You saw that yesterday. I come and make everything worse. You got injured because of me!" He shook his head. “I would only make you suffer in the end.”

“_John _…”

The way she said his name… She was making it harder now, wasn’t she? Could he blame her? All the anger he felt was directed at himself. For no other reason but for being the way he was.

Her voice was soft. “You didn’t hurt me. If anything, you’ve been kind to me.”

He scoffed. “And yesterday? Please, you know that was wrong.”

“I just…” she withhold her palm from his now, gesturing with frustration. “I had a good feeling about this, I did! I’m so confused, I…” she held back a sob, refusing to look at him.

“I know.” He waited before he decided to lay a palm on her shoulder gently. “I had a good feeling about it too. But…” Yes, he will say it. “But then I started to care for you. _ Really _ care for you.”

She raised her eyebrow. “And that is the problem?”

“Debbie, you know me. You must have heard about my… relationships before.”

She nodded, a sad smile on her lips. “You never cared for them really, did you?”

“And it was alright with them because they didn’t care too. Nobody got hurt. But now…”

“Yes, I understand,” she said, with a bitterness in her voice so unusual for her. She looked him in the eyes, tears slowly falling down her cheeks. And what she said next stung deep, as if she has hit him right across the face: “Why are you so afraid of being loved, John?”

_ Because I don’t deserve it. Because I’m a wreck. Because I’m not worthy of you. _ “I’m not afraid of love,” he said. “I’m afraid of hurting the one person who would care for me. I’m afraid of hurting _ you _.”

He looked at his hands, then at the horizon, the blazing sun up in the sky. Her eyes. Her bright blue eyes and he wished, he_ prayed _ he could drown in them.

She nodded but said nothing. She knew, but she would have him say it. She looked at him with the eyes of a doe that was about to be slaughtered. Unabated, yet fearful, she awaited his words like a prey awaits a bullet in the head.

His throat was dry and for the first time in his life, he felt genuinely uncomfortable with something he was about to say. “Could we… could stay friends, for now?”

She didn’t respond for a while, didn’t look at him. “I understand. _ Alright _.”

If she was taken aback by what he said, she wasn’t showing it. John looked at his hands, speaking more quietly now. “I just want to protect you.”

If she was waiting for a sign, this was it. “You are trying to _ protect _ me? From _ yourself _ ?” She raised her voice, standing up quickly, turning her gaze down at him, with a blaze in her eyes he’d never seen before. Come to think of it, he never saw her angry before. Not that she was angry now. Disappointed? Hurt? Oh, she was definitely_ hurt_. He didn’t blame her. “You are trying to protect me _ now _?” Her voice cut deep, in a way only a kind person can make it hurt. “After claiming we were together in front of all those people in the saloon yesterday? Don’t you see how this makes me look? This is not the city, John! It’s a small, religious town, have you actually stopped to think about the consequences of your actions?”

“I—” he stumbled upon his own words. “I know, I’m so sorry, I didn’t think—”

She shook her head, not allowing him to finish. “You made me look like - yes, I will say it - one of your fleeting romances. And I won’t have that,” she shook her head with resolution, such cold defiance in her eyes. “No, I won’t. I could stand being remembered as a cursed owner of a cursed ranch, being haunted by burning men and devilish horses, but as one of your fleeting fancies you discarded when you got bored with them?” She held her chin up high, with the pride of someone who knew the darkest demons of her soul intimately. “I won’t be remembered like that. _ I won’t _.”

“Debbie—” He stood up, reaching for her, but she quickly stepped aside.

“I won’t.” She repeated, backing away from him, her face a mask of defiance and sadness. And then, before she turned away and ran towards the ranch, leaving him standing all alone underneath the oak tree with nothing but regret for his own actions: “Not after I spend this entire time caring for you.”

* * *

She didn’t have much time to process it all - thankfully, maybe - when Nathan, one of the farmhands, stopped her as she approached the ranch.

“Miss Debbie! There’s a man near the grounds! Were you expecting anybody?”

She wiped her eyes quickly. “A man?”

“Yes, we saw a man skulking around the grounds. When we asked him about his business he didn’t reply.”

She instinctively looked at the plains around the ranch. “How did he look like?”

Nathan shrugged. “He had a long coat. Unusual, this time of year. And he didn’t look all too well, miss. His clothes were damaged as if he fell from somewhere or something,” he didn’t seem convinced, however. “Maybe a beggar?”

She repressed a sudden shiver running down her spine. “Where did you see him?”

The farmhand pointed his finger. “Just over there, near the fence in the garden. He didn’t get inside the estate, though.”

She nodded, already heading that way. “Thank you.”

“No problem, miss!”

Deborah left the ranch through a back gate then sidetracked back to the place Nathan pointed at. Not really surprised, she didn’t find much, but she was no tracker, obviously. Whoever the secret visitor was, there was no sight of them now. Yet the farmhands’ words echoed through her mind: long coat… damaged clothes… as if he fell from somewhere…

She leaned down to inspect the grass, the scorched tips swaying in the wind, but it could just as well be the heat. Could it?

She was startled by a noise coming from the corner of the main building, the subtle clink of a bottle hitting the ground followed by a quiet curse.

Her heart beating fast, she slowly approached the source of the disturbance, yet what she found was unexpected - but maybe less riveting than what she’d fear.

“Samuel?” She arched her eyebrow at the sorry figure lumped against the wall of the house. “What are you doing here?”

He reached for the bottle that fell from his hands, clinging to it. “I had to be on my own for a while. Can’t be at my place, there are newspaper sharks milling about,” he gave her a sorry look. “I didn’t want to end up here but to be honest, I don’t feel quite well.”

She leaned down to get a better look at him, observing the wounds he got from his beating the previous night. He was right. He didn’t _ look _ quite well too.

She offered him her hand, trying to help him to stand up. “Want to come inside?”

“N-no,” he shook his head, leaning back against the wall as he remained on the ground. “Don’t want to trouble you no more. I know you don’t really like me around.”

“That’s nonsense, Sam,” she said softly, sitting next to him. “I never said anything like that.”

He raised an eyebrow. “But you and that pompous dipshit? S-sorry, don’t like him very much.”

She chuckled shortly. “I understand.”

“Are you really together?”

She shook her head. “No. He made that up.”

“Ahhh, right…” he laughed. “Figures.”

She laid a palm on his shoulder. “Are you sure you don’t want to come inside?”

“Yeah,” he sighed. “I’ll be heading back home soon anyway. Father already screamed at me enough today so I should be fine.”

“Oh,” she looked at the ground. “I’m sorry.”

He took a sip from his bottle then looked into the sun. “He hates me, ya know?”

She nodded. “I can imagine. My father hated me too.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Yeah? I guess you are better off now without him, huh?”

She paused, trying to repress the memories. “Well, it wasn't a particularly happy event and it cost us a great deal of misery, but leaving my father behind was probably one of the better ideas my mother had. It was... _ hell _ and I don't ever want to go back to those times, but I am glad he is no longer with us. Not that he died or anything, but...” She closed her eyes. “I _ forgave _ him in the end, but I don't ever want to go back. I don't think I can ever _ forget_.”

He pondered over her words as if they already confirmed something he was thinking about before. “Hmm, maybe you are right. Leaving your shit of a father behind might be a good choice, after all.”

Seeing him in such a state made her heart sank. “Samuel, look, I know you only befriended me because-”

“It's not like that!”

“-because you wanted the ranch,” she said softly. And then: “It's alright. I _ understand _.”

He shook his head, trying to explain himself, but stumbled upon his own words. “It's not like that. Look, it's not as if I didn't care about you. Maybe at first I didn't, but... I mean it's true that I don’t...” He paused, unsure whether to continue.

“Say it.”

“...don't love you. But spending all that time together... You make such a _ great _ friend, we could be such good friends and I... I threw that all away because I wanted to impress my father,” he scoffed, looking away, a face red with anger. At his father? No, at himself. “All I cared about was his opinion when I should have listened to what other people had to say. All I wanted was to please one person without thinking about what _ I _ wanted. I hate my father and I was always afraid I would become like him... And that's what happened, in the end, no?”

She hugged him across the shoulders gently. “You are_ not _ like your father. You realize what you did was wrong. You have a _ heart _ Samuel, and,” she paused, the faintest of smiles on her lips, “I forgive you.”

He blinked in surprise, looking at her as if trying to find a hint of malice in her eyes, but finding none. “How can you even do that?”

She sighed. “Well, I am_ still _disappointed about yesterday and how you used my kindness against me. But I understand why you did it. I know how it feels when your parents mistreat you. And I don't believe you are an evil person, Sam.”

He shook his head in disbelief, then looked into her eyes with a glint of gratitude in his gaze. “You are the purest soul I have ever met.”

She smiled. “_ Everyone _ has a good side to them.”

“So,” he decided to risk it, “you mean we could still be friends? After all this?”

She nodded. “Of course.”

“And what about— you know…”

“John? He doesn’t own me, he has no say over the company I keep.”

“Oh, well…” He tried to stand up, the bottle still in his hands. “Thank you for this. For… everything.”

“It’s alright, Sam,” she said softly. “As I mentioned, everyone has a good side to them.”

* * *

“John. We need to talk.”

Oh, how he dreaded those words. He barely got back home when he was met with the disapproving gaze of his brother, waiting in his office.

There was something about the cold disappointment of preachers and how they carried themselves around oozing that self-important aura of a person who has a purer soul and hence has to carry the sins of mankind on their troubled shoulders. But Joseph was the master of it. Especially if it concerned John, he was ready to come out of his way to preach, to reprimand, to lecture.

John was growing tired of it, of being treated as a child, of how calm Joseph remained all while speaking down to him. But he could never talk back, no matter how he tried. There was something about his brother that made John cling to his words, no matter how much he disagreed with them. And at the end, he would always bow his head in shame, no matter how much he would like to make a stand. His brothers seemed to be the only ones who could bring him back in line if only for the while they were looking, but it was usually Joseph who relished delivering the lecture. Preachers, go figure.

“Yes?” He sat down across him, hiding his annoyance.

“Since when do you start brawls, John?”

He sighed, leaning back in his chair. “Since yesterday evening, apparently.”

Joseph remained calm. “We’ve talked about this. About how you get out of line sometimes. It’s dangerous, John. What if—”

“He hit me, okay?” He raised his voice, not as much as he’d wanted, and was quickly silenced by the look Joseph gave him. “Stupid farm boy got out of line. What was I supposed to do? Let him punch me?”

His brother wasn’t amused by that answer. “Why do you care about her so much, hm? Deborah is a pure soul, yes, but you’ve known her through our sister for a while, why make your advance now?”

_ Because she’s too good for me. And I knew what would happen if I did. _ “What does that have to do with anything?”

Joseph looked at him with a studious gaze, as if he could see right through his facade. “Is she really worth losing your reputation?”

John let out a dismissive laugh. “I didn’t lose my reputation.”

“_Yet _.”

He opened his mouth to speak but was silenced again, by the judging look of the preacher, the calm disappointment in his gaze stinging deep. John looked down, almost as if in shame, before looking up again, saying what his brother was waiting for. “It won’t happen again, Joseph.”

“I know,” Joseph laid a palm on his shoulder, gripping it slightly. “I don’t want to see you deny yourself the entry to Eden. Letting in to your wrath is not worth the price of salvation, John. I hope you realize that.”

He avoided his gaze, speaking quietly. “I do.”

“Good,” Joseph said, satisfied. He stood up, walked towards the door, then turned again for one last look. “You can die old or you can die young, John. It’s up to you to decide which one it’s going to be.”

* * *

“I came as fast as I could,” Faith said gently, her fingers wrapped around the teacup. She was sitting with Deborah in the kitchen, while soft evening rain poured outside. “John told me about what he did and I thought you might need cheering up.”

Deborah smiled, laying a palm across her hand. “What would I do without you?”

“Oh, please!” She giggled. “It’s what friends are for,” her pleasing voice a contrast to the grim mood. “I know John can be difficult to handle sometimes.”

Deborah leaned back in the chair, sipping the hot tea carefully. “Aren’t we all?”

She nodded, with a sad smile. “True, but you know what I mean. He really does…” she looked at her with sadness in her eyes. “He really does hate himself sometimes, you know?”

“He does?”

“I mean, it’s hard to believe, right?” Faith set her cup aside, gesturing in the air. “He carries himself around like he’s the best man ever born and he can be such a self-entitled pain in the ass, but it’s mostly just a mask. He had… a bad childhood.”

Deborah nodded, thinking about the events of the previous night. “I know. He told me.”

“Then you understand.”

She sighed. “I do.”

“I mean, it’s not as if he didn’t like you or anything,” Faith tilted her head to the side, thinking about the right words to say. “It’s mostly because he does. He _ really _ does,” she saw the confused expression on her friend’s face and quickly added: “I know, it’s so silly, right? Backing away when he starts to care for you? But that’s John for you. I truly am sorry. I tried talking to him about it, but he wasn’t really in the mood, as you can imagine.”

Deborah looked through the window, suddenly unsure of what to say.

“He told me not to tell you, but that doesn’t matter now,” Faith continued talking, “but I’ve never seen him be so head-over-heels over someone before. He’s constantly talking my ear off over you, ‘Debbie this’, ‘Debbie that’, while Joseph just silently judges him and Jacob can’t really understand why he’s acting up this way. He even hung your portrait up in the house, you know that?”

Debbie smiled, the first time in the evening. “He did?”

Faith sighed. “Yes. Lord above, he’s my brother but he’s so _ stupid _ sometimes.”

Deborah couldn’t help but chuckle. “Never heard you talk this way about your brothers before.”

“Right,” Faith smiled, “sorry about that. I just… I guess I just wanted to let you know that he really cares about you. It’s not as if he got bored with you or anything else he is usually prone to do.”

“I know.”

“I just hate seeing him butcher a good chance for something… _ meaningful_. There are not many people who would truly be ready to appreciate John for being… well, _ himself _, and when someone like that finally comes around, he behaves like a child.” Faith sighed. “I’m sorry.”

Debbie shook her head and smiled shortly. “It’s not your fault.”

“Well, I introduced you, didn’t I?”

She was about to respond when a knock on the door interrupted her.

“Miss Fawkes, sorry for disturbing,” said mister Ross as he peeked inside the room. “But mister John is here to see you. All soaked to the bone he is.”

“You never disturb me, mister Ross,” she said, but couldn’t hide her surprise. “Did he say why?”

The horse master shrugged. “Shall I let him in?”

“Of course, thank you.”

“Maybe he came to apologize,” Faith mused out loud after Ross left the room.

Deborah raised an eyebrow. “While it’s pouring outside?”

Faith chuckled. “The way I know him, he _ waited _ until it started raining.”

John entered the room with the grace of someone who is used to carrying themselves with an air of elegance, despite having their clothes soaked from the rain.

“Debbie, can we please talk?” He pleaded while he set his hat on the table.

“Right,” Faith said with amusement in her voice. “I feel like this is my cue to leave.”

“Please,” Debbie stopped her, “there’s no reason for you to do that.”

“Ah, I think it might be better,” the girl smiled. “I have a feeling this might get _ personal, _” she didn’t wait for the response and left, giving John a long look before closing the door behind her.

John collapsed in the chair across Deborah. “I think it will be better if I just say what I have to say right now and leave you to figure out what to do afterward. You left without allowing me to explain myself, not that I blame you, I mean…” He brushed his wet hair, talking quickly but surely as if waiting for quite some time before he had the chance to say those words. “I just wanted to say that I never treated you as one of my fancies. I meant _ all _ of it. Everything I did, I said... The nights we spent together,” he looked her in the eyes. He was making even a bigger fool of himself now, wasn’t he? Not that he cared. “I _ love _ having you around and I care for you deeply. I just wanted you to know this is not a game for me. I know you deserve at least that.”

She was quiet before answering, her voice calm. “John, I know that. I wouldn't let you as close to me if I didn't trust you. I know you meant it and I'm not holding it against you. But the townsfolk _ don't _ . They will look at _ me _ with prejudice, not at you.”

He sighed. He knew it won’t be easy. “I mean we still work together at the ranch so it's not as if anyone would really notice, and—”

She cut him off quietly, but surely. “I will not play pretend, John.”

“Of course not, of course, I'm sorry,” he backed away quickly, holding his hands up.

She shook her head, looking at him. “It’s just… with everything that's been going on, I need a good friend. Not to add to the chaos.”

He nodded. “I understand.” And then - oh lord, she must think him an utter fool now: “And I want to be that friend despite everything. You are so bright and kind and wonderful and you deserve the best in your life. I know I've complicated everything. Developing feelings for you was not part of the plan.”

“I didn’t ask you to.”

“I know,” he paused for a second, as if afraid of what she might think of him now. But he couldn’t help it, he had to say it. “I didn't want to fall in love with you but I most likely will. And I don't want to hurt you no more.”

She sighed, confused. “If you care for me why don't you at least give it a try?”

“Because I know myself,” he shook his head, looking down. “Because I really wish only the best for you and I'm afraid I’m not ready to be the man you need. Not _ yet _ at least.”

She stayed quiet for quite some time, almost making him worry he said something wrong. _ Of course I said something wrong, all I did today was wrong. _ “Well at least you are honest,” she said, finally, after sorting her thoughts back together. “Thank you for that. Not that it doesn't hurt, but...” she didn’t finish the sentence, giving him a long look instead.

He understood. “I know. I won't repeat I'm sorry because I know it means nothing. We can… we can keep the flirting, the hugs, if you want, and see whether you will find someone else, someone better, or if it's going to be me again...” He bit his lower lip. He never experienced trouble while speaking before. “I _ really _ wish only the best for you.”

She nodded, opening her mouth to say something, but her face froze with shock as she focused her gaze on the window behind him. “John, look behind you.”

“W-what?” He raised an eyebrow at the sudden change of tone, but followed suit, gazing through the window into the rainy evening. The sun was still up, as was the custom with summer, yet shrouded by thick clouds and the rain wasn’t doing much to help visibility. John fixed his gaze on the windy plains outside. “I don’t think I see anything?”

“There was a man,” Deborah said quickly, her voice shaking. “Outside the property,” she stood up, going for the door.

“Wait, you can’t go alone!” John exclaimed, following her. “A man?” He asked when they stepped outside, already soaked from the persistent rain. “Are you sure?”

She nodded, visibly worried now. “I am.”

“How did he look like?”

She opened her mouth to speak but then noticed something, quickly pointing a finger that way. “There he is!”

This time he saw him. A dark silhouette dashing through the plains with a steady step. He wore a long coat tattered at the edges. They lost him behind a tree near the garden, but then he emerged behind another one, ten or so feet away from the previous one.

“No way,” John whispered.

“You see him?” Deborah asked, her voice unexpectedly cold.

“Yes. Hey, you there! What is your business here?!”

The man must have heard him, yet his only response was to quicken his pace, moving away from them.

“He’s running away? What?!” John threw his hands in the air. “Stop right there! We just want to talk!”

The figure paid him no heed.

“He’s vanished behind the corner of the house!” Deborah shouted, quickening her pace.

But when they arrived behind the house, the place was empty, the sound of rain the only thing filling the silence.

Deborah let out a sigh of frustration, leaning against the wall to catch her breath. “Did I just go crazy or did you see it too?”

“I did,” John bent forward, clasping his knees.

“Oh no,” Deborah said after looking at the ground, unable to hide the horror in her voice, “oh no no no.”

“What? Debbie, are you alright?”

She didn’t answer him, only held a palm to her mouth in disbelief. John followed her gaze, gasping in shock.

The mysterious man they pursued left his footprints behind, the only proof they weren’t dreaming. But as John looked closer, he held his breath, gazing at the burning scorch marks in the grass, sparks dancing in the rain like the blazing flames of Hell.


	7. The Church of Ghosts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A month passes, yet Deborah seems plagued by terrible nightmares; and what is even worse, they reflect what happened to her during a summer day in the middle of an abandoned church of ghosts.

_ “Reward offered for any information disclosed about the whereabouts of the man depicted below. He was last seen around the grounds of Ellsworth ranch and is most likely the perpetrator behind the grave robbery in the church of st. John-in-the-Plains. He was reported wearing a long, tattered, dark leather coat and a used black hat. His face is constantly obscured, but he is most likely a man in his forties, of average size and build. If you know any information about his whereabouts, contact the sheriff’s office immediately. The sheriff also lets it be known that any attempts at fraud and getting a hold of ‘easy money’ by procuring false intelligence will be fined appropriately.” _

— “Have You Seen This Man?”, Hope’s Peak Weekly

* * *

It’s strange how some of the scariest, most disturbing things can happen in the bright light of noon. With the sun up high, birds chirping in the back as if the entire world chose to forget about the darkness that cannot be stopped by the time of day. As if some things were better to be left alone, unexplained, rather than lose one’s head over them.

Deborah knew she couldn’t ever describe properly what happened to her in that abandoned church in the middle of a ghost town without being called crazy. And yet, she has heard similar tales before - the story of the pale rider keeping an eye on a flock of horses from Hell because he owes their owner a favor; or the very same man taming a creature of horror, a goat with twisted horns screaming into the night. And she could never forget the burning touch of the flaming fingers of the man who turned the memory of her loving uncle into a living nightmare.

Nightmares; she was getting used to them more. An entire month happened after her visit to Devil’s Point, an entire month since the day John asked her to be friends. And yet, she still fought with bad dreams. And what was even worse, was the fact they were true.

The dreams were so vivid, true to how it actually happened. She was walking through the abandoned town with bated breath, leading her horse as she went, the animal growing agitated with each passing minute.

“What’s the matter, dear?” She asked. “It’s just a lonely place, there’s nothing wrong with it,” she kept on lying. Maybe this way she could dull the frantic beating of her own heart.

It _ was _just an abandoned town. Of course. It was common knowledge that Devil’s Point - being called differently back then - turned into a ghost town during an unfortunate summer day thirteen years ago. A couple of bandits shot the entire place, slaughtering everyone, and it stood lonely nestled between the hills of the Wolfsbane valley ever since. True, some vagabonds and wanderers took shelter amidst the decrepit buildings from time to time, but the church, overlooking the town from a small grassy mound, stood untouched, for an unknown reason.

There was nothing strange about the building but seeing it in person brought goosebumps down her spine. It must have been beautiful back in the day, with a colorful garden in front, bright white walls, and a welcoming pastor inside. Now, the wood was splintered in certain parts, the roof was in a slow but sure process of falling, and the big wooden doors stood mildly open, like the mouth of a sleeping monster waiting to devour anyone foolish enough to enter. It maintained a certain eerie presence despite the sunny day. It was hard for Deborah to feel scared during broad daylight and yet she could almost feel her skin crawl.

She was thinking about the souls living there before the tragedy. Did they see it coming? Were they just in the middle of enjoying their warm afternoon filled with laughter and joy? She found it impossible to understand how could someone have so much evil in them to kill anyone, not to mention an entire town. She shuddered at the thought but continued walking. She imagined the sound of gunshots filling the air that day, until, with horror in her eyes, she heard an _ actual _ gunshot firing into the sky just a few feet near her.

* * *

Deborah opened her eyes. She was used to searching for the blissful oblivion of sleep before, yet sometimes she didn’t wake up any more relieved than the night before. She had to do something about the nightmares, and quick.

She stood up, opening the windows, looking at the plains around Ellsworth ranch with a faint smile. It was quite a beautiful place. She only wished it wouldn’t come with all the worries about it.

She had trouble getting out of bed sometimes, during one of _ those _ days. It all started in her childhood, with her demanding father, and her seeking escape from everything. From_ being_. And despite all her efforts and hard work, those feelings came back sometimes. But she refused to let go, if only out of spite. And now that she had an actual ranch to ran and a mystery to solve, she had even more reasons to keep going. Even though the very same things sometimes kept her from fighting for breath anymore. That’s why she had developed the habit of looking out of the windows every day - to gaze at the ranch, _ her _ ranch, the very actual representation of the reason she did have something to live and fight for still. If _ only _ to restore the memory of her uncle. If only to forget that awful night in St. John-in-the-Plains.

She looked at her hand instinctively, all healed now. A reminder. A reminder that she survived.

Nevertheless, the nightmares continued to plague her mind relentlessly, and as she gathered her clothes and made herself ready, she realized it was high time to deal with them. And instead of beating herself over it, for needing help, she decided she _ had _ to do this. And _ now_.

* * *

Faith was living in a modest house at the edge of the town - not that she couldn’t afford anything bigger, the Seed family was well-supported financially-speaking, thanks to John, but she preferred the calm and solitude of the open plains and the nearby forest.

“Are the nightmares getting worse, dear?” She asked when Deborah entered the kitchen.

Debbie raised an eyebrow. “How did you know?”

Her friend winked at her. “It’s my business to know things, you could say. Tea?”

“Yes, please,” Deborah smiled. “Could always use more tea.”

“What are the dreams about?” Faith asked as she poured them both tea, with concern on her face.

Deborah frowned slightly. “You know… same thing. There is a church, in Devil’s Point, I walk there, see ghosts, and wake up.”

“There are no variations whatsoever?”

She shook her head. “Usually it doesn’t change.”

Faith stayed silent for a while, pondering over her words. “Debbie, I don’t want to pry, but don’t you think it’s time to speak about what happened at the church a month ago?”

She shuddered at the mere thought of it. “What would be the point?”

“Well, is there any chance that the nightmares you are having,” Faith pondered out loud, “are actually a reflection of what happened there?”

She shook her head, trying to fight the memories. “I’m not sure I can talk about it.”

“If I can help you…”

“You can help me,” she cut her off gently, but still felt guilty about it. “By doing what you usually do.”

“I might just have the thing you need,” Faith said, pressing a finger to her chin, thinking. “Though I’m missing one crucial herb for it. It grows in the forest, though, and it’s just the right time to collect it this month. Will you come with me after we finish the tea?”

Deborah smiled. Walking through nature always did her good. “Of course.”

* * *

The forest offered a fresh recluse from the shining sun outside, leaves swaying gently in the breeze. The grass in the Wolfsbane valley was lush and its green color shone warmly against the sun rays. The chirping of birds and gentle buzzing of bees carried on the wind, followed by the tantalizing smell of wood and the silence of a sleeping place that opens one lazy eye when a distant traveler steps across the forest road.

Debbie followed Faith around, already away from the beaten path, stopping ever so often as her friend bent down examining the herbs blooming in the grass.

“You seem to be quite at home here,” Deborah decided to break the silence after a while.

“Ah yes!” Faith responded with a smile on her face. “I love the calm of the forest here. Not many people around, leaves the herbs fresh for the picking. I love my garden near the church, but there is something about the untamed nature, no?” She winked at her. “Of course, you should know, you paint it all the time.”

Deborah nodded, the sun rays peeking through the leaves warm on her skin, like a gentle kiss. “This would make a great painting spot, yes,” she has already imagined where exactly she would set up her easel - right under the lonely spruce tree overlooking a small meadow dotted with wildflowers. She could capture the gentle play of light of the midday sun, maybe even a doe, if she was quiet enough. Painting the wildlife wasn’t something she would actively seek out, but when it came to the deer, she was a silent admirer. Would often lay in the grass, unmoving, watching them with bated breath, filled with wonder, enjoying the soft, special moments, that made the past month taste a little less bitter.

Faith must have seen her face as she smiled. “Ah, it seems as if you are already imagining it. We should do that sometimes! I mean, you painting while I pick herbs.”

Deborah entertained the idea in her head. “I would love that.”

“Perfect, then!” Faith giggled, putting another batch of herbs into her basket. “And I believe I have everything. Shall we return now? I can make these ready for you.”

“Yes,” she said, giving the forest scenery one long parting look. It was high time she dealt with the nightmares for good.

* * *

The gunshot echoed through the air, making her heart skip a beat. For a split second, she was unsure if what was happening was real - something she found the answer to the hard way.

When she turned her back towards the church, facing the road, she saw them. Five armed men with a dangerous look in their eyes. She didn’t know most of them, except their leader. A man in his early thirties with a black messy hair and striking eyes, his broken nose a reminder of how she had the displeasure to meet him.

“Well, hello there, _ bitch_,” he spat on the ground, his smile a grimace of contempt. “Don’t have your knight in the shining armor here to save ya now, huh?”

“The way I remember it,” she said slowly, her voice still shaking, “I didn’t need saving back then.”

His smile disappeared just as quickly as his anger resurfaced. “The way I _ see _ it,” he said, moving closer to her, the mouth of his gun ever so dangerously close to her face, “you will be in high need of saving right about now.”

* * *

“Debbie?! Hey!” Faith waved a hand before her eyes, waking her from her daydream. “Are you here?”

“Ah, yes, sorry,” she muttered, leaning back in the kitchen chair.

“I said I have it ready,” Faith laid a bottle with some green liquid on the table. “Add three drops of this into water an hour before you go to sleep. It should make you drowsy enough to fall asleep without any dreams. Getting up might be hard in the morning for the first week or two, though, but it’s normal.”

Deborah smiled, standing up to hug her friend. “Thank you so much. Whatever would I do without you?”

“It’s nothing,” Faith answered gently, but a hint of worry crossed her face. “Are you sure you don’t want to talk about it? You haven’t been really yourself since then.”

Deborah shook her head shortly. “Thank you, but not yet. Thinking about it is painful enough.”

Faith nodded. “I understand. Well, if you ever change your mind, you know where to find me.”

“I do,” Deborah smiled, laying a palm across her shoulder. “I appreciate it.”

* * *

"So you’ve found nothing?” John asked, unsure whether out of relief or fear. “No sign of him whatsoever?”

“None,” Jacob answered, getting up from the couch. “I’ve also run into Rose, she said she will keep a look out as well.”

“And?”

His older brother shook his head dismissively. “Seems the Burned Man, how you call him, disappeared without a trace.”

John let out a sigh, once again unsure whether he was pleased with the news or not. He pondered over it for a second, tilting his head. _ Yes, maybe it is better this way_. He stood up and patted Jacob on the shoulder. “Thank you, brother. For all your work.”

Jacob lifted an eyebrow; it was unclear whether he was surprised by his brother’s genuine gratitude or if this was his usual reaction when people thanked him for anything. Indeed, the bounty hunter seldom received thanks; cash yes, or at least any meager reward for his services, but thanks were mighty rare these days. For the likes of him, at least.

“Well, you are welcome,” Jacob answered, though his voice was stiff, unsure how to properly react. “If you ever need anything more, you know where to find me,” he tipped his hat and headed into the orange-lit evening, closing the front door behind him.

Deborah observed their talk in complete silence, sitting on the couch the other way round, with her hands crossed and propped against the top of the backrest.

“So, what do you make of that?” John turned his attention to her as he reached for a glass of whiskey on the table and emptied it.

Deborah waited a moment before answering, her gaze fixed at the closed door. “I’m not sure.”

“You’re not sure?” John sat down next to her, observing her face. “You’ve been awfully quiet these days.”

“Mhm,” she hummed absentmindedly.

“Are you having your nightmares again?”

As if startled by his comment, she lifted her face up, looking at him. “Yes.”

“You want to talk about it?”

She attempted a smile. “You are kind, but no, thank you. I would just repeat what I’ve told you so many times before. I don’t want to talk your ear off about it.”

He made a face. “As _ if _.”

She stayed quiet for a moment, looking into his eyes. As the month passed, they found it more comfortable to share their silence or to work side-by-side if the situation required it, going minutes without talking and not feeling under pressure because of it. Deborah started spending more time at John’s place and he visited her ranch more often as well and not always just for work. She was glad they could stay friends despite what happened, yet the looks they were giving each other suggested this was far from being settled.

John laid a palm across her knee gently as if trying to bring her back from her daydream. “You want to talk about what happened at the church?”

She shook her head gently, a shadow clouding her gaze. “I’m not ready yet.”

“Are you sure? Because the time will come when—”

“Maybe we can go through work at first?” She cut him off gently. “If you don’t mind.”

“Certainly,” he straightened his vest, trying to hide the look of concern on his face. “Well, there isn’t much today. Let’s see,” he paused, putting a finger to his chin, thinking. “Ah yes, I’ve sent a couple boys to town to get the supplies mister Ross needed for repairing the fences, as you told me. And Nathan will be heading to Prosperity for the sheep auction on Thursday morning, but I’m sure you already know about that.”

She nodded and smiled. “Of course, just wanted to make sure.”

He gave her a long look. “Debbie, you know very well what is going on at your ranch, you are capable of running it yourself. You don’t need me to tell you about it. Are you sure you are just not avoiding the question?”

She chose to ignore the comment, laying a palm across his shoulder. “I’m still thankful for you helping me organize everything. You are clearly more experienced in this than me.”

If John thrived off of compliments, it made him even more successful at seeing past them. “Well, I _ did _ sign a contract to do just that, but you know that’s not the main reason I’m helping you,” he took her hand, looking into her eyes. “I’m here for you. Which is why it pains me that you choose to ignore my help.”

She blinked in surprise. “I— what do you mean?”

His smile was soft but sad. “_ Ma chérie_, I can see you are going through something. And I can tell it’s because of what happened at the church that day. Don’t you think it will help to make the nightmares go away if you talk about it?”

“Talk to _ whom _ ?” She asked. “You already know it. After all, you were _ there _.”

* * *

She felt her heart skip a beat staring into his face, the grimace of wrath and hurt pride smeared across his gaze. Did she actually believe he would shoot her in the end? Would he kill a woman for breaking his nose? _ And did it even matter, in the end? _

“No, please,” she begged, her voice shaking, “there’s no need for violence!”

“_ Now _ you plead, huh?” The man laughed, exchanging a series of amused looks with his companions. He moved closer, the barrel of his gun hitting her chest, making her heart thump so loudly it threatened to burst out. “ _ Now _ you beg me?” He smiled but it never quite reached his eyes. “You know, everyone thinks you are a pushover, Fawkes. Always the quiet girl, always the kind soul trying to stop the violence. And yet, look at what you did to me,” he pointed at his face, his smile utterly disappearing now, replaced by a bitter scowl. “That day at the saloon, I thought I could have been wrong about you. And then,” he laughed, “then you fucking _ apologized _ to me and ran away. And now, now you have the gall to beg me? Because that’s how it always goes, no?” His face was a mere inch from hers, his eyes flaming with hatred that called his mind home for many a year. “You roll over and cry until the others trample over and let you be, huh?” He leaned closer, a push, a pivot, the gun etched into her chest with a painful insistence. “Oh no,” he grinned, seeing the tears coming from her eyes. “Are we crying now? Ah, this is the spectacle I came for. Maybe I’ll let you go, hmm.”

She felt the slap of his hand burn through her cheek, crying out as she fell to her knees, his gun pointed at the top of her hand. “Maybe,” he smiled again, “after you _ beg _ me enough.”

“Leave her alone, you fuckwit.” John’s calm, yet firm voice echoed through the valley. “Or you want your nose broken a second time, Hughes?”

“My, my, my,” the man said with a smile on his face as he, and his companions, slowly turned away to face the newcomer. “It’s ‘Robert’ for friends. Not that you are any of them. Well, well, if that isn’t the mighty John Seed, all in the middle of nowhere. You seem to have good timing, sir.”

“Let her go. I won’t repeat myself,” John’s hand reached instinctively for his holster, and the rest of the men did the same.

“Or you do _ what_, exactly?” Robert sneered. “We have you outmatched.”

John didn’t break eye contact as he spat on the ground, a telltale grin on his face. “A lion will hardly bow to a pack of _ worms _.”

That seemed to anger Hughes especially well, clearly hinting at some unresolved feud between the two. Deborah remembered they were at odds because John wooed the sweetheart Hughes was madly in love with, but she was unsure how far into the past it happened.

“Ya know, Seed,” Robert said, his pistol still in hand, “I could just load the lady’s brains out here, so you know how it feels when someone steals something you love,” he paused, thinking about how that would unfold in detail. “But that means I’d have to shoot you as well. You are the Devil, sure, so that would be no loss, but I ain’t gonna end up in Hell because of a scumbag like you,” he sighed, holstering his weapon and nodding towards his companions to do the same. He shot a glance towards Deborah, with a smile on his face. “Just watch yourself around me. And him, for that matter,” he winked. “He’ll use ya and drop your cold, lonely body for the wolves. He _ always _ does.”

“Just get the fuck out of here,” John said, raising his voice.

“Alright, alright,” Hughes chuckled, raising his hands as he walked towards his horse, followed by his men. “You won’t always have lady Luck on your side,” he waved towards the bank owner as his horse sprung into motion. “And Lord above, I’ll enjoy watching you squirm that day.”

* * *

“Debbie? Are you listening?” John’s voice caught her attention again and she blinked shortly as if trying to repress the memories.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

He sighed, not entirely out of frustration. “I just said you might try to speak to Faith about it. She’s the least likely one to judge.”

“I’m surprised you haven’t already told her.”

“Well, I’m waiting until you yourself are ready.” Then, with a soft smile: “I can be there too, help you figure out how to say it.”

She was surprised by his kind offer. “That means a lot, John, thank you. I’ll… I’ll think about it.”

He wasn’t easily persuaded, however. With gaze focused on her, his finger rubbing the skin of her hand gently. “Promise?”

Was it the first time he asked her to hold a promise? Why did he care so much? Did he do it because he knew she would be compelled to stay true to her word? In that case, did he really need to go the extra mile and ask her to do so? Or maybe, she thought, a small flicker of hope inside her chest, maybe he just really cared. Maybe he lacked some stability in his life. Maybe that’s what he was searching for? A promise that hasn’t been broken for once. Don’t we all seek the same thing, eventually?

She held his hand gently. “_ I promise _.”

His face beamed with a smile and he pulled her closer to his embrace, laying a kiss on the top of her head. “That’s my girl.”

She closed her eyes for a second, feeling the warmth of his arms, almost as if they managed to shelter her from the world outside.

“John?”

“Yes, dear?”

She raised her head to meet his eyes. “Do you still mean what you said a month ago?”

He sighed, his palm starting to gently run across her shoulder. “Debbie… You know I would never forgive myself if I’d hurt you.” Then, remembering the past events, he frowned a little, before focusing his gaze on hers. “_ Again _.”

“So,” she decided to risk it, biting her lower lip, “are we going to pretend as if nothing happened and ignore this… _ tension _ between us?”

He paused, thinking. When he spoke again, his voice was quiet. “If you’d rather _ not _ talk to me, I would understand…”

“_ What_? No,” she sat up, puzzled. “That’s not what I meant.”

He lowered his head, but he kept holding her close. “I’m sorry.”

She sat up, leaving his embrace, something he flashed a betrayed look at. “Well, I feel I should go, then. It’s pretty late already.”

“You don’t have to,” he said. “_ Please _.” Then, as if he quickly remembered himself: “Only if you want, of course.”

“Again?” She asked, but a small smile played on her lips. “People will start to gossip.”

“I don’t care what they say,” he said firmly. _ Your opinion is the only one I care about_.

She tilted her head to the side, pretending to ponder whether to stay or not, grinning playfully. She was trying to toy with him, he was sure of it, yet the way her nose twitched every time she made _ that _ face… she was way more adorable than she took credit for and it was driving him crazy sometimes. “Ah, alright then, I will stay. You will be graced with my presence this evening, it seems,” she stuck her tongue at him, then rested her head on his chest, letting him wrap his arms around her.

“Oh, how happy I am right now!” He exclaimed, laughing. “Truly blessed.”

“Oh, c’mon, be genuine at least!” She joked, poking him in his side with a finger.

“I am genuine, m’lady!” He couldn’t stop smirking. “I have never _ ever _ uttered a lie in my life.”

“Of course,” she made a face, “except for right now in this moment!”

He laughed, holding her close to make it harder for her to break from his embrace, hands slithering to her sides, tickling her through the fabric of her dress.

“Oh no, you—!” She made a face of protest but immediately broke into laughter, the sound of her voice filling his heart with joy. “How dare— Ahaha, stop it!” She pleaded halfway through giggles, wriggling in his grasp.

John laughed but decided to release her after a while. “Alright, alright, I think you’ve had enough.”

She sighed, wiping her eyes, and gave him a sheepish smile; it wasn’t long before she was on top of him, yelling “Revenge is mine!” and breaking into laughter as she tickled him on his belly.

“Ah, you little minx!” He cried out, raising his arms in protest, eventually shaking her off, taking her hands up and pinning them against the couch. “What did you say about revenge just now?” He purred, suddenly very pleased with himself.

She made a face at him, but her mouth already twitched into a smile. “That it will be mine.” She wriggled in his grasp, but he held her hands firmly, making it unable for her to move. She flashed him an annoyed look. “_ Eventually _.”

“Well, come and get it, then,” he grinned, waving his free palm at her, to put even more pressure on the fact he was holding her in place with just one hand.

She made a grimace, attempting to look angry but failing. “That’s not fair! Just admit you are only scared of my wrath!”

He laughed. “You want to know just how much I’m scared of you?” He smirked, leaning in closer, sticking his tongue out.

Deborah realized what he was about to do and her eyes widened. “Oh no, you don’t.”

“Stop me then,” he grinned, hiding his laugher, his face a mere inch from hers.

She tried to break from his grasp but to no avail. He leaned in, licking her nose with the tip of his tongue in a swift motion.

“Ah! No!” she squealed, closing her eyes and he started to roar with laughter, letting her go eventually. “JOHN SEED!”

“Debbie Fawkes?” He couldn’t stop laughing and her exasperated expression soon gave way to giggles, most likely from the mere look at him being in stitches. They went on like that for a while, waiting until it subsided.

She wiped her eyes, giving him a warm look. “It’s been a while since I laughed like this.”

“I know,” he nodded, face still red. “Glad you are having fun.”

“It looks more like _ you _ are having fun, sir,” she gave him a sideways glance but couldn’t hide her wide smile. She searched his face for a sign of approval then rested her head on his chest, letting him wrap his arms around her.

“You know,” he mused out loud after a while, “I’m so happy to see you smile.”

She waited with her response, her face buried in his chest. “Thanks.”

He ran a hand through her hair and leaned in to kiss her on the top of her head. He stayed silent for a few moments, caressing her gently.

“John?” She broke the silence, lifting her head up a little to gaze into his eyes.

His voice was soft. “Yes, _ dear _?”

She bit her lower lip as if trying to find the right words then decided to just be outright honest. “All these things… the hugs, the kisses… you don’t do them out of pity for me, do you?”

He didn’t wait with his answer. It was one of the few things he was dead certain of. “I don’t do things out of pity.”

“Alright,” she nodded, a small smile on her lips. “That makes me happy.”

He brought her closer, resting his cheek atop her head, rocking her gently in his arms. “That’s what I’m here for.”

* * *

“Why deers?” John asked, gentle sun rays illuminating his figure as he stood in the center of Deborah’s atelier, rolled sleeves and a brush in his hand, looking over at her canvas with interest. “You paint them a lot.”

There wasn’t a hint of criticism in his voice, she noticed. She stopped her work for a while, a yet unfinished landscape painting of the plains, with a lonely deer looking into the sun. “They are graceful and intelligent,” she answered, straightening her apron with a few quick strokes. “And also a bit shy, afraid of the world,” she blinked, looking at the ground. “A bit like myself.”

John smiled, setting his brush aside to come closer to her. His canvas was set to the side and he insisted she can’t see the painting until it’s finished. “But a deer also has antlers.”

“Yes,” she nodded, looking at him. “And he grows them back after he loses them. I think that’s,” she paused, silent melancholy warming up her expression. “I think that’s beautiful. And inspiring,” she started walking towards the window, with a look of longing in her face. “It’s the same as the sun, you know? No matter what happens, no matter how hard the life screams at you, bringing you to your knees…” She smiled, but it was the smile of a person who spent their entire life fighting the darkness-filled melancholy with the warmth of a kind touch. “No matter what, the sun will always come up again. It is my biggest and only certainty in life. That, and trying my best to stay kind, despite everything being thrown at me. Not that I didn’t have my kindness turn against me,” she said suddenly, with a bitter smile on her face, “but I can’t help it.” She averted his gaze. “I’m sorry if I’m being too philosophical.”

John smiled, gently caressing her shoulder and cupping her chin to bring her face to his. “You also know why a deer has antlers?”

She shook her head. “Why?”

“To protect himself from those who seek to harm him.”

“But—”

His voice was soft and there was a hint of something in his expression - resolution? All in all, John was just as surprised by what he was about to say. “I’m not asking you to lay aside your kindness. It’s what makes you such a wonderful person. Just.. just accept it’s not your fault when someone stabs themselves on your glorious antlers.”

“That’s…” she said, eyes wide. “I didn’t expect you to say anything like this.”

“Me neither,” he smiled, then the all-too-familiar smirk spread on his face. “You seem to have a good influence on me, m’lady.”

“It was high time,” she winked, then tried to lean across his shoulder to peek at the drawing he was working on.

“Ah-ah!” He caught her interest soon enough, standing in front of the easel to block off her view. “It’s not finished yet!”

She made a face. “But you’ve seen mine!”

“Well, not my problem,” he smirked, sticking his hands out as she tried to circle him, then catching her in his arms. “You can see it once it’s done.”

She wrinkled her nose, wrapped in his embrace, though she didn’t seem to protest. “Alright, then. But I’m keeping you to your word!”

He laughed, letting her go, watching as she picked her brush and continued working, gentle strokes bringing the canvas to life.

John resumed painting as well, yet his gaze was still fixed on Deborah’s form - her smile as she worked, the way she stuck out her tongue to help her focus. The way the sun hit her red hair tied back with a silk ribbon. The way her dress danced around as she moved, soft blue fabric bringing out the color of her eyes. She led the brush with such gentleness, letting her own imagination take control of her hand, her expression warmed up with the love for her work, the painting already looking beautiful enough. _ Almost as beautiful_, John thought, as he stepped aside, giving his work a studious look, _ as herself_.

_ Yes_, he smiled to himself, as he shot a quick look to the canvas before gazing at her again, the object of his painting, _ it’s a perfect likeness_.

* * *

It was time.

Deborah knew it despite desperately wishing it wasn’t true. She could feel it deep inside her soul, a cold presence that couldn’t be warmed up by the gentleness of the sun.

She knew it, as soon as she woke up that morning with sweat on her forehead, shaking, a dread so deep-set on her heart it made her limbs shiver.

She recognized the look in Faith’s face when she told her the nightmares continued on. The girl prepared an even stronger remedy than before, yet her face was saddened with the expression of someone who has seen enough of their loved ones suffer needlessly.

John decided to join them, later that evening, in the kitchen of the Ellsworth ranch; skies outside painted orange and the chirping of the insects oblivious to the inner struggles of the human world.

“Joseph wants to know too,” Faith said with a solemn look on her face, something so unusual for her general joyful disposition.

Deborah raised her head. “If Joseph wishes to know, why didn’t he come himself?” She asked with genuine interest, yet there was a hint of bitterness in her voice.

“He’s,” Faith paused, looking for the proper word, “he’s doubtful, I believe. Not sure if you’d need his help. But he wants to make it known that his door is always open.”

Deborah thought about that and smiled. “That’s… very _ kind _ of him. But I don’t feel confident enough sharing this story with anyone but you, yet.”

Faith opened her mouth in protest, but John raised a hand, silencing her. “It’s okay, sister. Give her time.”

“Yes, of course,” Faith said gently, “I apologize.”

“No harm’s been done, I assure you,” Deborah answered, giving John a long look. “I suppose there’s no point in delaying this, then.”

He nodded, a reassuring smile on his face as he laid a palm on her hand.

“Well,” Deborah sighed, closed her eyes, then opened them up again. “Better get it over with, then.”

* * *

“Are you okay?" John rushed to her with a worried look on his face. “Did he hurt you?”

“I’m fine,” she lied, almost fooling even herself. “I feel like he just wanted to scare me.”

John shook his head and a bitter smile appeared on his lips. “Trust me, if he wanted anything more, he wouldn’t stop at threats.”

She raised an eyebrow, a sudden dread overcoming her. “That so?”

John nodded, moving closer to her. “There’s been talk about Hughes. Nobody really knows why he came to town, but folks know he did something. Something _ bad_. But the bastard never left a trace. I’m not saying he is a killer,” he paused, his look suggesting otherwise, “just be on guard. Better yet, avoid him at all costs.”

Deborah sighed, trying not to let her imagination run wild. “Didn’t know that when he attacked me in the saloon.”

“So you’d do what? Let him punch you?” John shook his head.

She paused for a moment. There was something on her mind, something that has been bothering her for a while. She sighed as if trying to ponder whether to utter it. “He said I was a pushover. He was right.”

John shot her a curious look underlined by a sense of understanding. “Is that the reason you came here all alone? What were you thinking?” He frowned. “I thought we had an agreement.”

She shrugged. “Yeah, well, I wasn’t sure that was still a thing after… you know…”

“Still not a thing?” He raised his hands in the air, a hurt look on his face. “Debbie, _ please_, I gave you my word!”

“Ah yes, and I suppose your word is more worthy than gold in this town?” She frowned, quickly recollecting herself. “I just… I am so sorry, but I wanted to do this on my own, I thought…”

“You _ thought _?”

She bit her lip and sighed. “When Hughes called me a pushover, he was right.”

John raised an eyebrow. “You said that already, but I…”

“_ Please_, let me talk,” she interrupted him gently. “It’s true, I let people walk over me all the time. I guess I wanted to prove to myself I’m strong enough to do this on my own.”

John shook his head, refusing to see any logic behind her words. “Debbie, this is not the safest place to go on your own and you know that. It has nothing to do with how strong you are.”

“I just wanted to do it on my own!” She lashed out, louder than she intended to, then lowered her voice slightly. “Besides, you are here _ now_, anyway. How did you know I was here?”

“I didn’t!” He cried out. “I was in the area and then I heard a gunshot…”

“In the area?” She gave him a confused look. “Why?”

“Does it matter?” He brushed away her question. “Debbie, you could have got hurt! This is not a place you can just stroll through and take a walk in!”

She was silent for a while, her voice much quieter. “Are you saying I don’t have it in me to take care of myself?”

“What?!” John’s face was the model depiction of exasperation. “No, that has nothing to do with it!”

“Really?”

“Well, alright, I will say it,” he sighed. “I can shoot a gun, you don’t. It’s that simple.”

She frowned. “Oh yes because guns solve everything now, don’t they?”

He raised his hands in the air, his eyes wide. “They certainly solve a guy trying to shoot you to death, yeah!”

“I just… I just wanted to prove this to myself, okay?” She avoided his gaze. “I can have _ that _ at least!”

“Prove it to yourself?” John lowered his voice, though he already sensed the answer. “Prove what?”

“That I don’t need you,” she looked at him. “That I can do it on my own.”

“So that’s what you think?” He shook his head, unable to hide his disappointment. “That I _ think _ you can’t do things without me? Debbie… _ of course _ you don’t need me to hold your hand and lead you anywhere. But this place,” he gestured broadly, to make his point. “Coming here alone is not about proving something to yourself, it’s asking for trouble.”

“Yeah, you are right,” she nodded resentfully. “Seems I failed in that anyway. You must be _ so _ happy now.”

“Happy?” He raised his voice a little more than he intended to. “Why would I be happy? Your worth or even strength doesn’t lay in whether you manage not to get jumped by a bunch of revenge-seeking assholes. It has nothing to do with that, they could have easily jumped _ me_. But I have,” he brought up his revolver, waving it in her face, “ _ this_, and you _ don’t_. That’s nothing to do with whether you are strong enough or not.”

She stayed silent for a while, pondering his words as he put the weapon back in the holster. “Uncle wanted to teach me, you know. To shoot a gun.”

“And?”

She sighed. “I could never pull the trigger.”

His voice was calmer now, almost gentle. “It’s not that hard, you just have to…”

“Breathe out and release, I know,” she interrupted him, closing her eyes for a second. “It’s not that. I didn’t want to learn it because I don’t ever intend to use that skill.”

“Even if someone is aiming at your life?”

She shook her head, a frown on her face. “I know how that sounds. But does it make me any better than them, then?”

“Well, it’s called self-defense for a reason,” he said, all the anger leaving him now, for a second.

“I know,” she admitted. “I know, I just don’t have it in me.”

“Do you want me to help you with that?” He wasn’t sure she would say ‘yes’, but he had to try anyway.

“No… not yet, at least,” she said, but there was a glint of gratitude on her face.

“Right, well,” he cleared his throat, looking at the scenery around them before the tall white building caught his eye. “Well, _ now _ that I’m here would you mind me going to the church with you?”

“I wouldn’t,” she said, smiling for the first time in their conversation. “I’d be glad you did.”

The church was empty, filled with eerie silence and sunlight. The air was full with the scent of a place that has been abandoned for a while - strong fragrance of the old wooden floor and deserted pews, dust particles dancing through the sun.

“It looks empty enough,” John mused out loud as they walked, their footsteps echoing through the silence. “Almost untouched though, if you ignore the effect of time,” he stopped in front of the altar, wiping the dust from the surface with a flick of his finger. “Strange, considering the state the rest of the village is in.”

“That’s what I thought as well,” Deborah answered, her voice gaining an echo, like a whisper of a long-forgotten ghost. She shivered at the thought, her nightmares a vivid memory.

She walked through the pews, deserted save for a thin layer of dust covering the wood like a gentle blanket.

“How many years was it?” John asked, walking towards the confessionals in the back. “Twelve?”

“Thirteen,” she corrected him, but something else caught her attention. A sound, a whisper? She turned her head around and then she heard it.

Bells.

Soft, quiet, at the back of her head.

“Do you hear it?” She turned towards John. “The sound?”

To her surprise he slowly nodded, looking at her. “It’s like… clinging of a bell.”

“So I am not crazy, then,” she said, but she wasn’t exactly feeling any relief.

John opened his mouth to respond but then his glance traveled back to the confessionals and his body froze.

“What— what’s wrong?” Deborah followed his gaze and felt her heart skip a beat.

There was a figure standing in front of a confessional. Shrouded all in a white cloth from head to the ground, like the all so known ghosts from the stories.

It didn’t make any sound.

John cleared his throat, his voice echoing through the church. “Who… who are you?”

If the figure heard him, it didn’t make any response. It stood there perfectly still, in a place that was empty just a few moments ago. Come to think of it, they didn’t hear anyone approaching either.

“Hey, buddy,” John continued on, his voice skipping a beat despite all his tries. “This ain’t funny.”

And then, perhaps against all his better judgment, he started walking towards the thing, with bated breath. “C’mon, we just wanna talk.”

Deborah watched him with shrill terror in her heart, but then something caught her eye; no, her… senses. She couldn’t put a finger on it but looking at the pews, she felt something, maybe the way the air seemed to shiver around the area. Maybe a trick on her mind.

She walked closer, reaching her hand out, unsure why or what she was trying to accomplish, completely pulled in by the sensation of the unknown calling out to her.

At the same time, John approached the figure, uncertain whether he was more brave or stupid, his hand reaching for the white cloth.

“Time to end this little joke, don’t you think?” And then, with the jerk of his arm, grasping at the cloth, he tore it to the ground, yet what he saw underneath, or rather what he_ didn’t _ see, remained etched in his mind like the burning touch of an incandescent coal pressed against the skin.

At the same moment, perhaps out of luck, or the utter disaster of the entire situation, Deborah stretched her arm out, waving it over the pews, her fingers hanging in the air, tantalized by the burning sensation of something lingering around as if _ someone_…

When her palm brushed against the smooth, silky fabric of the cloth, she wasn’t able to scream. When John yelled out (”Wha— how?!”) as the pews started to fill themselves with dozen unmoving, silent, shrouded figures, she couldn’t make a sound.

She stood still as if glued to the ground by the sheer terror when John screamed at her.

“We have to leave! _ Now_!” He grabbed her by her hand, practically pushing her towards the door. And maybe it was good that he did, for she was unsure if she would still be there, standing in the middle of the church, a prisoner of the emotionless gazes of the specters in the pews.

Little did she know, and maybe it was for the better, for her preserved sanity, that as they left, the silent ghosts slowly turned their heads in unison.


	8. Send Me To The River

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Despite what happened, John can't stop thinking about Deborah. After they start their investigation into the Devil's Point shooting, he seeks out his sister for help.

_ "Terrified visitors from the South reported to the sheriff’s office after encountering a “strange, suspicious-looking man” on the road towards Devil’s Point at midnight. The stranger approached the witnesses in a seemingly dangerous manner but refused to communicate when called upon. Both men claim he had an uncanny glint in his eyes, as if they shone in the dark, and didn’t make a sound as he walked. They tried to return to their place of stay quickly, yet when they turned around, the figure disappeared without a trace. The road to Devil’s Point has been known to be old and neglected over the years, and a number of unsavory types used to take shelter in the town, yet the sheriff’s office ensures all citizens that Devil’s Point has been quiet and abandoned for a couple of months now. The current whereabouts of the man encountered on the road are unknown" _

— “Ghost Sightings On The Old Road”, Hope’s Peak Weekly

* * *

_ ‘You think you are mighty clever, don’t ya?’ _

Sam’s words rang in John’s ears as he walked the main street. How long was it now? A month and a half? Yet he remembered the fight so vividly as if it happened yesterday.

_ ‘Walking through here as if you owned the fucking place.’ _

He smiled to himself, subtly. Tipped his hat towards a couple of women as he went by, nodded his head as people greeted him. Folks were going out of their way to acknowledge his presence as if his favor was intoxicating. Oh, he was_ sure _that was the reason. He wouldn’t get very far if he didn’t know how to play people. It was a talent of his - twisted, wicked, but wasn’t he just a wrecked person, anyway? The only thing his parents ever gave him was the masochistic drive for pain and the knowledge that in order to survive, he had to tell people what they wanted to hear. He had to behave a certain way for them to have a certain opinion of himself. He would like to say he made it easy for people to love him thanks to this. Truth was, they were just terrified. He could be their messiah, granting wishes and favors from his lavish office, or the devil bringing them to their knees should he ever so desire. Some would think it was because of the money. True, he was disgustingly rich but that wasn’t the main reason. John was a performer. A silver tongue laced with an inquisitive mind and the perception of a man who spent years studying people around him. No wonder they were terrified. Nobody has ever stood up to him.

Nobody, except for Samuel Callahan.

John wasn’t entirely sure what to think about all that. He was furious, for sure, for being humiliated like that in public. Yes, he paid the press to smooth it all down, but his ego suffered a blow like never before. What wasn’t helping John to feel any better was the fact that Debbie (_ his _ Debbie? Why did it feel so natural for him to say when it wasn’t true?) insisted on keeping the bastard around, claiming he had changed and she had forgiven him. Her argument was a solid one - “Even in the worst kind of a person is something good” - and he couldn’t really say anything about that without painting himself in an unflattering light. Because if he insisted on it, claiming Samuel didn’t deserve her forgiveness, would he? If she couldn’t forgive the self-assured farm boy deceiving her, could she forgive John? Her kindness was her strongest trait, yet John couldn’t help but feel a little hurt having to interact with Sam when they crossed paths. The Callahan boy was mostly doing trade with the Ellsworth ranch, offering hay and his own produce in exchange for what Debbie could spare and he only stopped for a while. Yet he and John bumped into each other occasionally, mostly just nodding in a greeting, cold stares indicating they were staying civil just because of Deborah. John couldn’t be really mad at her for wanting to keep Sam around, but he wished he’d meet him less often. Or never, for that part.

And yet, somewhere deep down, against all his better judgment, he felt… _ no_, he won’t even admit it. _ Respect _is certainly the type of thing Samuel Callahan didn’t deserve and would_ never _earn from him. Even if it takes a certain amount of courage to be able to stand up to someone like John. But he couldn’t help but feel it only underlined the painful deep-set belief people never liked him in the end. Not that it mattered to him. He had a career, immense wealth, a beautiful house with land…

He smiled. One day that will be enough to fill the gaping hole inside his soul.

The newspaper building stood crammed on the side of the post, a yellow-colored facade bright against the sun. Hope’s Peak wasn’t a particularly big town, yet it saw many a visitor from the country. Those who wished to try out the essence of the “true West” often came to enjoy the cozy scenery. And some just came for the ghost stories and to get lost on their way to Devil’s Point. Or away from it.

With that in account, the newspaper building wasn’t especially imposing, occupying only its owner and a handful of reporters. Yet, strangely, there was never any shortage of what to write about. However, as John (and many others) pointed out, the newspaper’s obsession to report anything strange and supernatural became much more apparent since the death of Aden Ellsworth. Either people claimed to see wicked things under the guise of the fear of the unknown, or the reporters had nothing better to write about. The third option - that it was all actually true - would usually not be worthy of John to even ponder upon. And yet, with what happened to him a month and a few weeks ago…

He cleared his throat and entered the building, heading straight towards the owner’s office. He found him sitting at his desk, with a mildly bored expression that quickly evaporated upon seeing John.

“Mister Seed!” He stood up, shaking his hand. “How may I be of service?” A glint in his eyes suggested he was wondering whether another opportunity for being bribed was presenting itself. Not that John used the paper to alter his reputation often, but some people saw his wealthy pockets as a gold mine.

“Mister Halloway,” John nodded towards him. “I need you to show me all the articles about the Devil’s Point shooting and everyone involved that you had printed.”

The man blinked in surprise. “A-all of them?”

John raised an eyebrow. “You _ do _ keep an archive around, don’t you?”

“Of course! But,” he swallowed, deciding to brave the waters, “but that happened thirteen years ago. What is your interest in it, sir?”

“Now, now, that’s not a necessary piece of information for you to perform this task, is it,” John said, a wink appearing on his face. “You _ will _ be generously compensated for all your work, however.”

That seemed to brush all the concern away as Halloway sprung into attention. “It will take my boys a while to dig them out. Would you like them delivered instead?”

John nodded. “But to the Ellsworth ranch, not my place,” he didn’t ask whether Halloway was okay with this, his expression point-blank except for a glint in his eyes.

“The Ellsworth ranch?” The newspaper owner didn’t ponder over such an unusual request, the idea of money clear on his mind. “Of course, sir, I’ll have them ready as soon as possible.”

“Much appreciated,” John smiled, tipping his hat as he went for the door. “Until then.”

* * *

“Thank you so much for stopping by,” Deborah smiled, sitting cross-legged on the couch, the hem of her dress slightly revealing her knees. She held a teacup in her hands, leaning in to smell it before she took a sip. “And for having the idea to look into the matter.”

John waved her remark away. “It’s nothing. I’m glad you decided to take part in it as well. After what happened.”

She nodded but said nothing. Didn’t need to. John could get all he wanted to know from the way she looked at him, sitting relaxed, a glint of warmth in her expression. She became more “herself” in the past days, the far-away look in her eyes giving way to the much-beloved passion for her paintings, her little garden, and the people around her. She never really told him she was feeling better, but he knew, nonetheless, just from spending time with her. He was exceptionally good in perceiving others and it was no surprise that he was able to catch the subtle differences in her behavior. That, and he also… cared. Maybe one day he will feel less conflicted about that little part.

They were interrupted by mister Ross peeking into the room. “There are a few newspaper boys with a bag of articles,” he scratched his head. “They say they are expected?”

“They are,” John answered, a hint of anticipation on his face, “I’ll handle it.”

The horse master nodded with relief and left the room. It was clear to see, at this point, that Felix did more around the ranch than just tend to the horses. He and Debbie grew closer over the weeks. John wasn’t surprised, she always treated her employees more like friends and family members, knowing them all by their first names, frequently asking them about their days. She was very lenient, _ too _lenient, perhaps, but she couldn’t be strict even if she tried.

John went for the door, following Ross into the hallway when something struck his mind.

“Mister Ross, before you go about your day,” he pressed a finger to his chin, thinking. “The man that told me about you, Edmund Ray, if you remember? A month and so ago you told us he had been dead for three years.”

“Oh, that,” Ross said with an unmasked unease. “It’s true, sir, every word. I didn’t expect to talk about it no more.”

“I understand, and I apologize, but I must insist,” John gave him a look of pity, appearing perfectly believable. “Did he have any family members? Brothers?” He paused. “_ Twins _?”

The horse master shook his head firmly. “I’m dead certain he didn’t. Ah…” he stuttered. “I apologize, the pun was unintended.”

John gave him a warm smile. “Maybe someone could pose as him?”

Ross entertained the idea, just for a moment. “And even if so, what would be the use? Why would someone pretend to be someone else to recommend you hire me? And how would they even know about my condition? I didn’t tell any--” He paused, his eyes going wide as if only now realizing something important.

John waited patiently, like a cat entertaining the idea of catching a mouse. As far as he was concerned_ he _already knew what crossed Ross’s mind, but he would have him say it.

The horse master opened his mouth to speak, closed it again, and shook his head. “I don’t— you mean—?”

John gave him a knowing look and Ross let out a sigh. “I didn’t tell anyone. Anyone, but… the pale rider.”

* * *

“That’s _ all _ of them?” John asked as the two young men from the newspaper entered the living room. He looked at the small stack of newspaper clippings one of them carried in his hands while the other stood awkwardly near the wall with a blank expression on his face.

“Just put it over there, on the ground,” Debbie asked them, “thank you so much.”

“No problem, miss,” the one holding the papers answered, giving her a smile, yet there was a glint of confusion on his face.

“Here,” John took out his wallet, “for your trouble. Tell your boss I will stop by later this week for his part of the… _ compensation _.”

“That’s mighty kind of you, sir! Thank you,” they nodded, unable to hide their surprise at the height of the sum, leaving hastily, perhaps to the closest saloon to make an enjoyable use of it.

“Well then,” John said, a smile spread on his face as he knelt near the stack of papers. “Shall we begin?”

Debbie nodded, joining him, their shoulders brushing ever so slightly as she took the first article clipping in her hands. “You looked a bit disappointed back there, what’s the matter?”

“I just,” he sighed, leaning in closer to rest his chin on her shoulder so he could read along with her, “I just hoped we would have more to go on.”

“Who knows, maybe they were so meticulous in their reports we’ll find everything we need here,” she gave him a smile, her tone suggesting she actually believed that.

Her optimism was hard to resist. “Alright then, so, what do we have here?”

“Hmm,” she tilted her head to the side, quickly reading the article. “This is just the first major report about the shooting. Nothing of significance, no names either.”

“Right, on to the next one,” John snatched another paper in his hands, eyes quickly darting across the page. “The major shooting at Devil’s Point this week… yada yada yada… criminals still not found… search ongoing… bla bla bla, please contact the sheriff’s office… uh, _ garbage_,” he rolled his eyes and tossed the paper behind his back, letting it land on the floor somewhere. Then, as if remembering he wasn’t at home, he shot Debbie a quick look. “Oh. _ Sorry _.”

“It’s okay,” she smiled, surprised by his apology. She took another paper in her hand. “This one says something about one of the outlaws? Their leader? Just speculations. The sheriff’s office was leading a raid on him and…” she flipped the page, studying it for a while, “yeah, they didn’t catch him,” she let out a frustrated sigh and tossed the paper over her shoulder, earning a grin from John.

“Seems I have a bad influence on you, _ ma chérie _.”

She giggled, nudging his shoulder slightly. “The _ worst _.”

“I’ll behave, I promise,” he stuck his tongue out, already going through another paper. “At least for a while.”

She smiled. “We both know that’s not true.”

John let out a quick laugh but his focus was already on the article in front of him. “This one here mentions there was a mass ongoing at the church during the shooting… interesting.”

“Does it? Let me see,” Deborah moved closer to him and he showed the paper to her.

“It’s just a mention but could be the source of our… _ ghosts_,” he frowned. “Can’t believe I’m saying this.”

She let out a sad smile. “Trust me, me neither,” she peeked at the paper, reading through it quickly. “It doesn’t say what happened to the people inside.”

“Dead,” John clarified without emotion in his voice. “All the reports say nobody survived.”

“Oh, I see,” she whispered, a sudden shadow clouding her face. “That’s _ terrible _.”

John tossed the paper aside, taking another one from the pile that was quickly becoming smaller. Then, as if he realized something, gently: “Would you rather wait while I go through it on my own?”

She raised an eyebrow, then smiled at his offer. “You are kind. I guess I… feel strongly about things. It makes me weak sometimes.”

“Hey, you are not weak,” he found it so unusual, the way she made him so soft at the edges. For her. “You are the strongest person I know.”

Her eyes went wide. “Y-you mean it?”

He laid a palm on her hand, squeezing it gently. “_Yes _.”

_ There is strength in being soft. _

“Thank you,” she said quietly, averting his gaze. “But I think I can do this. I feel like I owe it to them at least,” she bit her lip, reaching for the pile. “There’s not many of them left, anyway.”

She scanned the next article, letting out a gasp of surprise. “This one is about the hangings.”

“The hangings?”

She let John take the paper to read through it himself. “I see. According to this all of the outlaws were caught by the sheriff’s office with the help of… a stranger?” He frowned. “Some bounty hunter that wished to remain anonymous. That’s weird.”

Deborah pressed a finger to her chin, pondering over his words. “The anonymous part?”

“No,” he shook his head. “Actually, yeah, a bit. Why go out of their way to mention they had help when they won’t drop his name?”

“Maybe they didn’t want to get all the glory for themselves,” she guessed.

John let out a short laugh. “The sheriff’s office? Not wanting to appear as the heroes of the day?” He waved his hand, dismissing the thought. “Sure, it was thirteen years ago and there was a different sheriff here, but the day people in power don’t want to keep appearances hasn’t come yet, and most likely never will.”

She shrugged. “Does it matter, anyway? It’s not like we can find out who the bounty hunter was.”

John paused. “I could ask Jake. Yeah, he wasn’t in business back then but who knows, maybe some of his… _ colleagues _ heard about that guy. It’s not as if a major shootout in a town happens every day in these parts.”

Deborah nodded. “Yes, that’s a good idea,” she took the paper back. “Can I get a look at the names of the outlaws? Improbable, but maybe it will ring a bell.”

“Their leader was a guy called Lucio Perez,” John said. “Everybody knows that. But fewer people know who exactly was a member of his gang. Come to think of it, nobody really remembers them.”

Deborah muttered the names out loud as if trying to get the sense of the sound they made. “Arthur Richardson, Turner Sanchez, Gary White, Stan Peterson, Jax Campbell…” she stopped, a confused look on her face.

John laid a palm on her shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

She bit her lower lip, frowning. “Jax Campbell… I’ve heard that name somewhere.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Yeah? Are you sure?”

She nodded. “I am. I just don’t see the connection. Or when it happened. I…” she shook her head. “Maybe it’s nothing. But I will think about it.”

“Alright,” John smiled. “Hey, it’s _ something _.”

She could tell he was just trying to be supportive but appreciated his effort anyway. There was a distant look in her eyes, however, as if trying to remember - or_ forget _ \- something very unpleasant. She had a feeling she might know where she heard the name after all. Just hoped it wasn’t true. She gave the small pile of newspaper clippings a short look. “There’s not many left now. Would you… would you mind going through the rest on your own? I… don’t feel very well.”

He shot her a worried gaze. “Is there anything I can do?”

“No,” she gave him a smile. “I’m just very tired.”

“Okay,” he nodded, not entirely convinced, but stood up to offer her a hand. “Get some rest then, alright? I will tell you if I find anything interesting.”

“Thank you, John,” she left her hand in his for a second before turning away and going for the door. She paused for a moment to give him one last look - he didn’t know, already reading through the papers - and smiled.

* * *

John stayed up for a while, the burning lamp on the table nearby the only reminder it was well past a reasonable time a grown man should stay at a lady’s house. As far as he was certain, the newspapers didn’t hold much information and that bothered him. The mysterious bounty hunter has been mentioned only once and without a single clue as to his whereabouts.

He sighed, battling the urge to light up a cigarette to sort his thoughts. Were it any other house he wouldn’t bother to mind his manners, but…

He frowned, shaking his head. Why did he care so much? Even apologizing about making a mess earlier? Come to think of it, he was already gazing at the scattered papers around with the intent of cleaning them all up.

He let out another sigh as he got up, doing just that, partly out of disbelief, partly out of… _ care_. There goes the word again. He thought it would all pass with time, that he would start to see her as a friend and nothing else, for the good of both of them. He made a bitter smile - there he is, thinking about her feelings as well after he spent years caring for himself only. And his family, of course, but that was different. When it came to his romantic endeavors, John was never the one to shy away from some fun, but he always left his back doors open. No hard feelings, no tears, no strings attached. It was fine, the people he became closely intimate with didn’t mind that. And if they did, it wasn’t his problem - not that he didn’t warn them before.

He tried to wipe his feelings for Deborah this way. It wasn’t hard to find anyone interested to see the flamboyant personality of the wealthiest man around up close. He used to have a favorite girl in the brothel - she was quite bright for her occupation and they often talked about things that bothered him. He couldn’t say whether whores had a deeper understanding of people’s feelings or if they were just trained to read their clients. In a way, he wasn’t much different, after all. But what she told him the last time he saw her felt like a slap to his face.

“I can tell you’re not enjoying this,” she said gently and pushed him away with a look of disappointment on her face.

“What the hell?” He was unsure how to react to being denied what he had paid for.

“It’s that artist girl, right?” She tilted her head. “You keep thinking of her. Pretending it’s her… you are having right now.”

He frowned. “What does that have to do with this?”

She shrugged. “Not that it’s bad, and definitely not the first time I’ve seen that happen, but I can tell I’m getting way more out of this than you, and that’s not how it should be.”

He leaned, anger boiling down his throat. “I don’t _ care _ what you think.”

She wasn’t shied away by his attitude. If anything, she only raised an eyebrow, unamused. “Of course, it’s not my place to say, but I know that this isn’t the way you’ll get her out of your head. And I think you know that too.”

He remembered leaving and slamming the door behind him that day, not even bothered to ask for his money back. Come to think of it, he had lost the appetite anyway. He… he hadn’t been with anyone for months. Ever since Deborah came to his life.

She occupied all his thoughts, no matter how hard he tried. He lost count of how many times he laid awake, the memory of her body gently pressed against his during the nights they shared a bed. He… he was a mess, yes he would admit that. And for the first time in his life, John didn’t know what to do about it. And as far as he knew, he never experienced anything like this before. The concept of being in love was unreachable for him, but not because he would never aspire towards it. No. He believed - he was_ certain _ \- he didn’t deserve it. He was too messed up and cracked at the edges and his heart was thorny and bound to scare people away, his selfish, wrecked ways sure to kill out any gentle touch wishing to caress his lonely soul. Except when he met her. And she was so insisting - well, no, she understood his decision and never tried to persuade him, but she never faltered too, in her gentleness and kindness. John knew it wasn’t because she hoped she could get him for herself this way, no. If there was anything in the entire world that he was certain of, it was her genuine warmth, her silent, raw, brutal, unfaltering kindness that took his breath away.

It was also the reason he had to do something about her. And he wasn’t sure what.

He organized the papers in a neat pile and placed them in the corner of the room before grabbing his hat from the couch, then paused. A sad smile spread on his face as he went for the door leading to the stairs up.

He was trying his best to stay quiet, tip-toeing through the wooden floors before he arrived in front of a door at the end of a short hallway. He opened it slowly, entering the room.

Deborah was sleeping sound in her bed, her bedsheets kicked away, her nightgown revealing her legs. She had a peaceful expression on her face and John hoped she was free of any bad dreams. In fact, he knew they ceased after she told Faith about them, yet couldn’t help himself but to check on her.

She was breathing evenly, holding a pillow to her chest and let out a soft sigh as he sat down on the bed next to her.

She wrinkled her nose and tightened her grip on the pillow. “John.”

“Hm?” He asked quietly but got no answer.

Deborah murmured something gently, but he wasn’t quite able to catch it.

_ I hope whatever dream you are having with me is a good one_, he thought, looking at her with softness in his eyes. _ Because I know the ones I have with you are. _

He reached for the blanket, gently covering her exposed legs, her shoulders. She nodded in her sleep, most likely to something in her dream, slightly wrinkling her nose.

She looked like a sleeping beauty, hair a tangled mess, her lips partway opened, and he could swear he felt his heart scream, yell, pull at his mind, his_ everything_, with such undeniable intensity he felt his knees shake.

He needed to do something about this longing, this extreme crying pain pressed against his skin like a lump of flaming coal. He needed to burn it out of his mind forever.

And he needed to do it now.

* * *

John would feel bad for making such a late visit at his sister’s if the matter wasn’t as dire. True, it was no life or death situation, but he has been slowly descending down a spiral and he was at a loss. Besides, he knew she wouldn’t mind. Especially because her best friend was laying at the heart of the entire matter and, John only guessed this, this time of the month, she would be up anyway to pursue her_ other _craft. The one he was seeking now under the hanging light of the moon, galloping through the dark plains, the wind still warm from the previous day, yet with a touch of freshness like a pleasant memory someone holds dear.

Faith was sitting on the porch, eyes fixed on the horizon. She was expecting him.

Some people could think the Bliss was just a trick on one’s senses, not different from the emerald blanket of opium pressed gently against the mind, caressing it with forgotten touches and promises of a better tomorrow. Faith, naturally, believed otherwise. Not that she would always claim her visions to be exact but they never lied, no matter how obscure they seemed - it was just a manner of interpretation. Her brothers endorsed her art even though Jacob was skeptical and Joseph, being a preacher, didn’t make generous gestures of support. Of all of them, John was the one most interested and curious. He was no stranger to such… powerful substances playing with his mind and body - he had to alleviate the pain of being somehow, after all. And the reason he sought his sister was not because the Bliss would show him the future - it wasn’t capable to do so. But his inner desires, his buried feelings? All swimming onto the surface under the soft touch of the drug, showing him not what to do, but what he_ wanted _to do.

And that’s precisely what he needed to know.

She lifted her head up, with a soft smile. “Here because of Debbie? I was wondering when you’d show up,” she raised a hand to stop his comments, giggling. “Please, I know my brothers as I know my own mind. Besides, a blind man would see how you look at her these days. The only thing I’m not sure of, however,” she tilted her head playfully, “whether you want to forget about her, or…” she left the sentence dangling in the air, a knowing smile on her face. “I thought as much. Well, I have _ just _ what you need.”

She gestured for him to follow her inside, through the kitchen into the back room tucked away in the hallway. It was a small, cozy place, smelling of herbs and something unfamiliar but alluring. A tiny fireplace was etched into one of the green walls and a table took up much of the rest of the room, littered with ingredients. The other walls were covered with long shelves with all sorts of flasks inside them. Faith knelt down, removing the rug under the table and opened a secret door. She climbed down a ladder leading into a basement below. John knew what was down there - distillery stands, strange books and flasks that had to be kept underground, either for the chill presence of the cold air or because they weren’t meant for the curious gazes of Faith’s usual customers.

She came back soon with a small bottle in her hand, filled with glittering, pale green mist - John could already feel his vision dance just by looking at it. The whole thing was firmly bottled and she put it in his palm with extreme care. He knew what it was made of - the beautiful, heavenly white flowers in Faith’s back garden shaped like angel’s wings. Fitting, for the whole thing sure made a person feel like they were flying through the deep corners of their soul, no matter how firmly their feet stood planted onto the ground.

Just what he needed.

“Thank you,” he said, speaking for the first time since he left the Ellsworth ranch, his voice feeling a bit dry.

“You know what to do,” she smiled. “Take it to the river. You know where.”

“I do,” he nodded and left.

* * *

He rode through the plains again, towards the Feverfew river nestled under the Wolfsbane valley, the memory of its green banks and azure waters alluring on his mind. There was a place he always went to when he needed to be alone (how strange, when he always felt so lonely), a nice spot with a lush tree overlooking the river, small, round stones pressed against his bare feet as he waded into the water. He knew the place as intimately as he knew his own soul. Or maybe even better.

There was a legend about it, come to think of it. He remembered it quite fondly, despite the fact his parents never really bothered with stories - he learned about it from some old man in the saloon. He kept on prattling about it as if it was true and John thought he was just a mad, desperate shell of a man, and as far as he was concerned, he was right. Nevertheless, the story stuck with him, as is the way of stories all around the world. Creeping into one’s heart, evoked by the dim sunset on a lonely road, or the opposite, like right that moment, with the lateness of the night that was only going to get later until it was morning again. John didn’t remember much of the story, except the fact that the river near Hope’s Peak was supposed to be magical. Able to purify one’s soul, washing their sins away, just the equivalent to the holiest of sacraments, the baptism. Except it was different, and no priest had to be present. The old man claimed it was because, during the days of old, a different city stood in the plains, divided by the running current of the river. The land around it used to be full of sin, as well as its inhabitants, until the river’s magical properties were discovered, completely turning the most of evil people around, setting them on the path of righteousness. John never heard about what happened to the city - not that it mattered, but he liked the part about the river. He liked to pretend that was just what happened when he swam in it, the cool touch of the water on his skin, his mind free of pain for a moment. He could almost see all of it being washed away with the flowing current.

The night was already almost spent when he arrived. It was only a matter of time until the sun came up - it was a particularly kind thing of the sun to do. Not that he would spend his time thinking such thoughts… it was the influence of Deborah in his life.

_ ‘No matter what, the sun will always come up again.’ _ He could hear her voice in his head as if she was standing right next to him.

He let out a soft sigh, to calm his nerves. Reaching for his shirt, he unbuttoned it slowly, exposing his skin to the cool air of the soon-to-be morning.

_ ‘It is my biggest and only certainty in life. That, and trying my best to stay kind, despite everything being thrown at me.’ _

He took the flask from his saddlebag, holding it in his hand for a while, watching the green mist tingle in the dark.

_ ‘Not that I didn’t have my kindness turn against me, but I can’t help it… I’m sorry if I’m being too philosophical.’ _

He smiled. And then, with one quick motion, opened the flask, taking one deep breath to inhale its contents, letting in the strangely sweet smell right under his skin, inside his mind. He felt his vision dance with soft glimmers, almost like the stars, before it started to get clouded with a soft mist, starting at the edges, slithering slowly towards the center.

_ ‘You also know why a deer has antlers?’ _

He smiled again.

_ ‘Why?’ _

And he stepped into the river.

_ ‘To protect himself from those who seek to harm him.’ _

The water felt cool against his skin, yet his senses were somewhat too dulled to perceive the feeling properly. Instead, his vision clouded for a moment, before it became clear again, showing the world around him in sharper, vivid tones. Maybe it would be dangerous to wade so deep in such a state, but it wasn’t his first time. Besides, John always had a little drive for the dangerous.

The water reached just above his hips and he spread his arms around, feeling the surface of the river against his fingers. The world around him felt quiet as if mercifully pressed into the background and he could breathe freely again.

He closed his eyes in silent prayer.

Show me what I want.

Show me what I feel.

Let me talk to my heart’s desires, let them pour into my eyes. Let me see.

Show me what my soul craves.

Show me what keeps me alive.

Show me…

my_ salvation_.

When he opened his eyes, he saw her.

Walking on the surface of the river, like the blessed Lord above, the sun rays crowning her flowing hair like a halo as the morning crept through the night.

She was naked, bare skin illuminated by the sun, like a renaissance painting, like the most beautiful of artworks, and he couldn’t tear his gaze away.

She was the light.

She was hope.

She was God.

She was…

_ everything_.

She smiled, standing right above him, leaning down to speak, her smile full of warmth and wordless longing. “Is this what you wanted to see?”

She wasn’t real.

She was the truest thing in his life.

She was his only certainty.

She knelt down, taking his hand in her palm, the other caressing his cheek gently. He leaned into her touch. “I hope you won’t be disappointed.”

He was walking the streets with power in his step all those years and she made his knees tremble.

“Disappointed?” His voice felt distant, like the repressed years of feeling alone in a room full of people - his life. He swore he would fall apart if not for her gentle touch. “Take my life,” he whispered. “Take my entire life.”

She smiled. “Your life is not mine to take. It belongs to you.” And then: “It’s up to you what you do about it. And I… I will have you if you’ll have me.”

The morning sun felt warm on his skin - or was it her touch?

“John.”

“Yes?”

“Stand up.”

He looked up for the first time, away from her radiance. He was kneeling at the bank of the river, the stones pressed against his feet. He had no memory of getting there.

When he looked up, she was gone, and the sun was already shining in the sky, the gentle rays illuminating the river. John felt the Bliss lose its power slowly, yet the soft reminder of her presence stayed adamant on his mind. He spent his entire life looking for something to worship and, oh sweet Lord above, she has put him on his knees.

He stayed there for a while, watching the morning progress before he had to return to his life, feeling lonely out of a sudden, without her by his side.

Despite all that, he smiled.

He knew what he wanted to do.


	9. Gathering Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Deborah tells John about a mysterious encounter she and her mother had years ago and the two get a lead on the whereabouts of Jax Campbell. Meanwhile, a storm approaches the ranch.

_ “Hope’s Peak will be once again hosting the annual market fair in early August. Farmers, both local and from surrounding towns, are welcome to bring their cattle and horses to showcase in the competition. All visitors from the country are more than welcome to enjoy the hustle and bustle of a true Western town, as well as appreciate the scenic landscapes surrounding our precious home. The annual market fair is being organized by the sheriff’s office and sponsored by the bank - gracious thanks go to Mr. John Seed for offering to shelter this year’s running of the fair once again. Come and enjoy the true essence of the West!” _

— “Annual Market Fair Announcement”, Hope’s Peak Weekly

* * *

The Ellsworth ranch was basking in the midday sun, fresh air carrying the song of birds like a gentle touch of a distant memory. John handed the Emperor’s reins to a nearby stable hand, straightened his vest, and picked up the package carefully deposited in his saddlebag.

He passed the grounds with a slight smile on his lips - the ranch was doing good; no, he will allow to say it, it was doing great. Now, he wouldn’t be the one to take all the credit for it, but he did feel quite proud of the fact he played a huge role in it.

To his left, a group of young men led the cattle to the pastures, singing a song as they went. The barn was now fully repainted and a new wooden fence was erected around the land. The main house was doing good too, Debbie already finished the intricate painting around the front doors, the peach tree looking pretty against the yellow façade. The windows were also getting a makeover, the bright white shutters now opened to get the sun rays inside. But most evident were the colorful flowers, not just in the garden, but on the porch of the house as well, and along the stony path, livening up the place and giving it a personal touch from Debbie herself.

John passed mister Ross who was leading a proud black stallion from the stables.

“Mister Seed!” The horse master greeted him with a smile. “What a pleasure, as always!”

“You too, mister Ross,” John tipped his hat towards him. “That’s a mighty animal you got there, sir.”

“Oh, this one? He is!” Ross beamed with pride. “Miss Debbie got him from an auction last week and a local fella got his eye on him, so I’m training him. He’s got loads of temperament, this one.”

“Must be sad to see them go,” John mused out loud. He sold horses, yes, though he never spent much time with those that were meant for sale.

“Ah, always is,” Ross waved his hand, though a smile spread on his face nonetheless. “But ya know, business is business. And he’ll be in good hands, miss Debbie doesn’t sell animals to just anyone, mind you.”

John smiled. “I know.”

“I’d offer you to try him out, though as I see, you are here for some other business,” Ross winked, looking at John’s hands. “Flowers, ha? For miss Debbie, I reckon?”

John let out a smile. “Seems nothing gets past you, mister.”

Ross laughed. “She’s a sweet girl, isn’t she?”

_ The sweetest_. “Yes, she indeed is.”

The horse master winked at him again, knowingly. “She’s in the garden now, painting.”

“Thank you,” John smiled, tipped his hat towards him once again, and left.

He walked through the path around the house, aiming to enter the garden from the other side, so she won’t see him carrying the bouquet, his smile faltering ever so slightly when a familiar figure walked the opposite direction.

“Mister Seed,” Samuel nodded towards him, with a hint of a bitter amusement on his face. “How’s your ego? Does it hurt much?”

John was used to his presence by now. ‘Used to’ didn’t mean he appreciated it, however. “Oh, I can’t complain,” he smiled wide. “It’s perfect. And how are you? Father stopped babysitting your ass around already?”

Sam continued walking, though he didn’t stop smiling. Casually, as if it was just a usual thing to say to your late enemies, he waved a hand over his shoulder. “At least I have a father. Puts me one up on you, _ Your Majesty_, eh?”

“Well, so happy to see you two getting along,” Deborah said, looking away from her easel just enough to see Samuel shrug and walk away.

John smiled. “What can I say, he simply can’t get enough of me.”

She giggled. “I’m sure he could say the same about you.” Her eyes went wide when she saw the flowers in his hand. “Oh my! These are so beautiful!”

John extended his arm, letting her take the bouquet and smell it. “Forget-me-nots! My favorite!”

He let out a proud smile. “Reminded me of your eyes.”

“Thank you so much!” She was beaming with warmth. “That’s so thoughtful of you.”

“Always happy to see you smile,” he said, watching as she stood up on her toes a little, to kiss him on the cheek, her lips soft against his skin.

“I’m going to get them some water, are you coming with me?”

“What about your painting?” He looked at the easel.

“Oh, it’s finished,” she smiled. “Just letting it dry up.”

John peeked behind her shoulder to get a look. “It’s beautiful. You’ve captured the house well.”

“I did?” She beamed. “I’m so happy you like it! I wanted to paint the ranch after all the renovations. I…” she bit her lip. “I hope uncle would like it here.”

He laid a palm on her shoulder, lifting her chin up slightly with his free hand. “He would _ love _ it.”

She looked him in the eyes, something unspoken hanging in the air. “Thank you, John.”

He liked the way she said his name, so naturally, casually. Of course, it was such a usual thing to do, and yet, to believe they were so close for her to say his name with such ease…

She smiled again, laying a palm across his hand before letting go and heading for the back entrance of the house.

He followed her into the living room and sat down in the spacious couch while she took a vase, filled it with water, and placed the bouquet inside. She laid the vase on the table in front of the couch, then joined John on the sofa and poured them some tea. She was making the best one he had ever tasted, black with honey and lemon, the smell so delicious; it reminded him of her whenever he thought about tea.

He watched her take a sip, his hand casually laid across the back of the couch before she leaned into his embrace.

He will tell her. He _has_ to.

“Debbie, I…” he opened his mouth, then closed it again as she simultaneously started talking as well. “John, there’s… I’m sorry, what did you mean?”

He waved her question away. “No, it’s okay. Please continue.”

She gazed into his eyes, her smile faltering, yet a look of hope on her face. “I have news about Jax Campbell.”

John raised an eyebrow. “You do? How so?”

“Right, so, remember how I told you I thought I heard the name before? Well… I was right!” Her eyes went wide with excitement as she took him by the hand. “I went to see my mother yesterday and I mentioned it since you know… never hurts to ask. And she heard it too! Actually, she was there with me that day, I thought I was just going insane but it’s true!” She pulled at his palm gently. “Talking about it with my mother helped to spruce up my memory.”

John couldn’t help but smile at her excitement. True, he hoped that the conversation would go differently - it’s not as if he spent all the days after his vision at the river trying to finally breach this very sore subject with her, waiting for the proper moment, just having it wasted on something else. He didn’t blame her, she couldn’t possibly know. And her smile was so intoxicating, and even though his mind was set on very different things that moment, he couldn’t possibly turn her down. How could he ever deny her anything when she was looking at him that way? And even though Jax Campbell was the last thing he wanted to hear about at that moment, he was feeling a bit curious about what happened to him.

“Well, don’t keep me waiting,” he smiled. “Tell me _ everything_.”

* * *

It was a scorching day years ago, she couldn’t tell just how much in the past it happened. Maybe it was for the better - some things are painful enough as it is, without poking the proverbial wound that has barely closed itself by now.

The sun shone high at the cart rolling through the empty road. Deborah was sitting right next to her mother who was holding the reins. She took a brief look at the road from time to time, but she continued to sketch into her notebook.

Her mother was in a conversation with their unlikely passenger - a young man in his twenties with deep red hair, a freckled face, and light stubble. His clothes were in bad shape, yet the guitar he carried was in perfect condition. From what they understood, he was a homeless vagrant traveling through the country. And as it seemed, they were all heading the same direction.

They had asked him his name when they let him board the wagon and settle himself amongst their meager possessions.

“Lionel,” he had answered, with a glint in his green eyes, and they knew he was lying. But it didn’t matter, in the end.

He was strumming the guitar mindlessly as he talked. “Really hot today, isn’t it?”

“Mhm,” Mary Ann’s gaze was fixed on the road. “It’s the middle of August.”

“It makes one feel alive, eh?” He mused out loud, leaning back against the wall of the wagon, looking at the cloudless sky. “But I’m used to it. Some folks ain’t.”

Deborah turned around to give him a quick look. “How long have you been on the road?”

He smiled. “My entire life, miss. All I remember is being out in the open, wandering with nothing but the guitar. I used to have a dog actually, though.”

“What happened to it?”

He strummed up another chord, a blank expression on his face. “He died.”

She lowered her gaze. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he said gently. “It was inevitable. Things die. People die. Everything has an end. Except for the road. The road goes on forever,” he sighed, a look of longing and melancholia older than the time itself on his face.

Deborah raised an eyebrow. “But you said you are on the way to Hope’s Peak, no? Isn’t that some sort of an end to your journey?”

He let out a chuckle. “True, I’m headed there for now. But the week after? Who knows. I might go to Prosperity or see Devil’s Point for myself.”

“Devil’s Point is not safe,” Mary Ann cut him off politely. “Bandits shot the town a few years ago and it’s been abandoned ever since. All sorts of… unsavory types might wander there from time to time.”

“Well, if that’s true,” the vagrant smiled, “I’ll fit right in.” He waited a moment before speaking again. “But I know the town from before it all happened. Back when it was called…”

He said the name. She was sure he said it, she heard a voice coming out of his mouth, but she was unable to piece the words together as if some sort of a curse befell them. Deborah felt dizzy out of a sudden - the vagrant gave her a knowing smile and the feeling stopped.

“Come again?” Mary Ann asked from her seat. “What did you say?”

“Ah,” he waved the question away, “doesn’t really matter. But you said you are heading to Hope’s Peak too. That your home?”

“It was… It is,” Mary Ann corrected herself. “I moved out with my husband but I’m returning home now.”

Lionel kept playing the guitar, a sad tune hanging in the air. “What happened to him?”

Mary Ann’s voice dropped ever so slightly. “Gambling.”

“Oh yes,” Lionel said knowingly. “Few things catch up to you as quickly as your debts do, ain’t that true?”

“It is,” Mary Ann answered, but the tone of her voice suggested she was done talking about it.

The vagrant sensed it, shrugged a little, and continued to play.

They continued driving, Debbie singing along to the songs Lionel played - he seemed to know all of her favorites. It was a bit strange but she didn’t mind, she welcomed the music much more than the silence of the dusty road.

The sun was way up in the sky, right before the late afternoon sacrificed all its scorching power for a comfortably warm early evening. A loud snap cut through the vagrant’s song as one of the cart’s wheels gave way, leaving them stranded in the middle of the road.

Mary Ann cursed under her breath, jumping to the ground to get a look. “Just what we needed.”

“How bad is it?” Debbie asked from her seat.

“It’s not broken, that’s something, at least,” her mother replied. “We’ll need to fit it back in.”

“I’d gladly help with that,” Lionel set aside his guitar, but his gaze was fixed on a nearby hill. “And I assume we should get that cart rolling as soon as possible. We’ve got company.”

“I know,” Mary Ann’s voice was firm, hiding any anxiety in her heart as she watched the band of riders observing them. “They’ve been at our heels for a while.”

“What do you think they want?” Deborah peered at the horizon, a new sense of dread overcoming her.

Lionel seemed much more at ease with the entire situation. “Rob us, probably. These things happen.”

“Not on my watch,” Mary Ann said, just in time as one of the riders left the group, galloping on his horse towards the wagon, the dust swirling around him as he went.

He halted the horse just a few feet in front of the wagon, a red scarf over his mouth and nose, a hand hanging over his holster. He cleared his throat to speak but was immediately cut off by Mary Ann.

“Now, sir, seems to me you have two options now,” she called out, hands crossed on her chest. “You can either use our unlucky situation to rob us, though I warn you, the only thing we have is a bunch of women’s clothes and unmentionables, or,” she didn’t even wait for him to say anything, “or you can get off your horse and help us fix the damn wheel. Suit yourself.”

There was something about the way she spoke, the voice of a woman who has been through hell herself, so firm, hardened. She knew she had nothing to lose at this point.

And surprisingly, it seemed to have worked.

“Y-your wheel?” The outlaw gave her a long, confused look. “You want me to fix our wheel?”

She continued staring right back at him. “I thought I made myself clear.”

Lionel raised his head from his seat. “It’s not broken, just needs to be put back on. Not really hard, I think. I can help ya if ya want!”

The outlaw was having a hard time. Sure, he could just hold them all by gunpoint, and even though the woman said they didn’t have much, he was sure something could come of it, maybe some jewelry, a prized ring, or something, anything. And yet…

“If you are thinking about getting anything worthwhile out of this I must disappoint you,” she said, watching him. How did she know? “As I said, we have nothing. The only valuable thing I had was my wedding ring and I made sure to toss it back to my ungrateful bastard of a man,” a dried laugh escaped her throat. “A pity. I’d rather give it to some unlawful outlaw now. But alas, mistakes have been made.”

The outlaw was visibly puzzled now, despite the mask on his face. “Your husband?”

“Yeah,” she waved the question away. “Turns out he loved poker more than his wife and daughter. The debt collectors kicked us out of our house,” she smiled, bitterly. “Nice of them to leave the wagon behind, at least.”

“I.. well…” Why was he dismounting his horse? Is he… God forbid, is he really going to help them fix that damned wheel? His friends at the hill must have been thinking the same thing. But then again, the outlaw wasn’t a man without a heart. None of them were. They were wretched, yes, but behind the rugged man always stood a silent little boy lost in the world. Isn’t that an irony? Monsters are not born, after all. And maybe, just maybe, those little moments of kindness will save his soul from burning in Hell. Not as if he cared.

Or did he?

Lionel jumped out of the wagon, leading the outlaw towards the wheel, a wooden hammer in hand. “You’ll lift the wagon up and I get the wheel back on, deal?”

He wasn’t leaving much room for the outlaw to deny. Still half-way out of disbelief, he followed the short redhead around.

Deborah left her seat to observe, unable to believe this was really happening. Maybe he’s going to help them and rob them afterward? Now that would be sick. Or maybe a twisted way to make up for his crimes. She continued watching the two men work with bated breath, unsure what would happen next.

“Now, wasn’t hard, eh?” Lionel said as they were done, tossing the hammer back in the wagon. “Thanks, friend.”

“Don’t— don’t mention it,” the outlaw said, and he meant it. He looked at the three of them, standing amidst the dusty road and something in him moved. “Glad I could be of help.”

* * *

They met them again two days later, camping in the woods at night. “It’s okay, don’t fear,” the outlaw said, watching the group huddled around a campfire. “We ain’t here to hurt ya.”

It was so ironic, sharing bread and warm soup with a band of criminals, Debbie thought. Yet none of them was anything but kind to them, and as it turned out, they opened up with their own stories. Within reason, of course. They couldn’t risk the three of them alerting local authorities. Not that they would. They didn’t see outlaws in the forest that day, only lost vagrants warming up their hands with a bowl of hot soup and stories to tell.

“Adam mentioned something happened to your husband,” one of them said towards Mary Ann. “Poker?”

She nodded, the look in her eyes suggesting it was still a sore subject for her, happening only recently. “He loved gambling. Well, no, that’s not true, he merely used it as an escape. That, and alcohol,” she gave them a sad smile. “I could stand him returning home at night, swearing obscenities, but when he raised a hand to hit my daughter…” she shook her head.

“What was he escaping from?”

Mary Ann smiled. It was a sad smile of someone who has seen their loved ones turn into a dark shadow of their former selves. “Himself.”

“Ah right,” her conversation partner nodded, raising a bottle to the sky. “That’ll always get ya in the end.”

Deborah listened to Lionel play, too shy now to sing in front of the others, but she was close enough to hear what the man speaking with her mother was saying next.

“Got a good friend once, name of Jacques Campbell? He was running from himself too,” he shook his head. “Didn’t run far.”

Mary Ann tilted her head to the side. “Why is that?”

Lionel, who seemed to hear too, gave Debbie a silent smile. As if he knew. And then: “He was hanged. Under a different name, though. He called himself Jax these days. Something about being embarrassed by his name.”

“Come again?” The outlaw’s face grew wide with shock. “What do you mean ‘hanged’?”

Lionel continued to smile. It became a bit unnerving, though Deborah was sure he meant nothing ill by it. It was just the way his face worked. He couldn’t really help it, just as much as a skull can’t help grinning. “As in being strung from a gibbet, with a rope around his neck. I saw it. Two days ago.”

The outlaw let out a sigh. “I knew it would happen. It would surely catch up with him.”

“What did he do?” Mary Ann asked.

It was Lionel again who answered. “Shot up an entire town. Oh, not by himself… With a bunch of other… friends. He was the last one to escape justice, though. Up until a few days ago, of course.”

The outlaw shook his head. “Do you know how they got him?”

Lionel seemed happy to answer that question. “He was snooping around his home town again - Prosperity. Trying to contact someone there, but the law caught wind and they cornered his sister. I’m not sure she told them though, but someone must’ve.”

“Prosperity?” Mary Ann’s face grew wide. “That’s not far away from Hope’s Peak.”

Lionel strummed up another chord, his eyes full of stars. “And _ Devil’s Point _.”

Deborah looked at him in surprise. “How do you know all this?”

“Ah well,” he gave her a long look. “It’s my business to know.” 

* * *

“Do you know what happened to Lionel?” John asked when Deborah finished her story.

She shook her head. “He disappeared the morning afterward, I still don’t know why. Maybe he changed his mind and didn’t want to go to Hope’s Peak after all.”

Not that it really mattered, in the end, John thought. “So what now? You want to go to Prosperity and ask around about Jax’s… I mean Jacques’s sister?”

Deborah shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s a stupid idea, but it’s all we have, right?”

John pondered over her words. “Well… it’s worth trying, I guess. Just don’t get your hopes up.”

She gave him a sad smile. “Don’t worry, I know it’s probably not going to be easy. We don’t even know if the sister still lives there. It’s been so long.”

He nodded. “I’ll think about it, okay?”

She smiled. “Thank you,” she paused for a while, averting his gaze. “But… I have a feeling you came here to tell me something, no? You looked like you wanted to say something before I interrupted you.”

“Oh that, well,” he cleared his throat, suddenly finding it hard to speak. It was so unusual for him. He tried so many days to get it out, it should come naturally to him by now, no? But then again, he always seemed to have something ruin the moment for him, and maybe he was just partially worried it might happen again. On the other hand, one more reason to spit it out. That was something that irked his nerves too - John Seed was never the person to say such important things so quickly, without any build-up. Not that he has ever said anything like that before. That’s what made it all so strange.

He sighed, then smiled at her, as gently as he could, taking her hand in his. Her eyes grew wide at that action, and he could see the faintest of blushes on her cheeks. The way she smiled at him suggested she was hoping he’d say what she longed to hear, yet her eyes became saddened quickly, with the look of a person who has been let down many times before.

“I’ve been meaning to tell you this for a couple of days now, but life’s been pretty hectic and something always seemed to interrupt the right moment for me,” he said gently.

“Oh,” she looked down. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”

“It’s okay, I’m glad you told me about Campbell,” he said, rubbing his thumb gently against her skin. “Really.”

She smiled. “What did you want to tell me, then?”

“I know what I said before, but,” he sighed, closing his eyes, then opening them again. “I can’t stop thinking about you. I know what you must think of me, especially after I pushed you away like that, but it’s been a couple of weeks and I’ve been thinking…”

He cleared his throat, searching for any judgment in her gaze, but found none. She listened to him intently, holding his hand with a gentle touch.

What he said was harder to admit than he’d imagine. “I know I messed up. I know I made mistakes. And I’m not asking you to forgive me.” He didn’t add anything afterward, once again looking at her with unspoken feelings in his gaze.

She gave him a knowing smile. “Thank you. I know it’s not easy for you to admit that.”

How could she be so pure? So understanding? Years before he would think her naive and gullible, easily manipulated. But now? Now he looked into her eyes and all he wanted was to lean closer and embrace her in her entirety, her soft, inviting warmth enveloping all his being.

He opened his mouth to continue, but then everything went wrong.

“There’s an intruder at the ranch!”

Now, to be fair, a sentence like that is hardly ever welcome, especially when a disheveled farm hand breaks through the door without as much as saying “hello”, a look of hell on his face. But it was much, much, _ much _less welcome in John’s situation and he had to gather all his strength not to stand up and yell: “Oh c’mon, again?!”.

“What intruder?!” He demanded instead, anger in his eyes.

The young man shrugged. “A man in a coat?! He’s been stalking the grounds in the past days too.”

Deborah and John exchanged alerted looks. “Is anyone hurt?” The young painter asked.

The farmhand nodded frantically. “Nathan. He tried to chase the man away. He’ll be okay probably, but the burns are nasty.”

Deborah felt her heart skip a beat. “The _ burns _?”

“Has anyone called for the doctor?” John asked, his firm voice perfectly masking the anxiety.

The farmhand nodded again. “Already called for madam Fawkes.”

“If there’s anyone who can fix this, it’s my mother,” Deborah said, feeling a little surge of hope deep inside. “She’s already treated severe burns before.” Instinctively, she looked at her own hand, then shrugged the memories away. “But we should take a look at this… _ intruder _ in the meantime.”

“No,” John pressed a palm against her shoulder, stopping her. “You stay here.”

“Seriously?” She flashed him an annoyed look. “It’s not the first time that this happened. It’s _ my _ ranch, I should be there!”

“Precisely,” he leaned closer, lowering his voice. “If anything happens to you there won’t be anyone to care for the ranch.” Then, upon seeing her frustrated look: “I won’t be long. Just… just stay here, alright?”

He didn’t wait for an answer and followed the farmhand out, quickly putting his hat on as he went - seemed like no situation was too dire for John to take care of his looks.

Deborah should have stayed inside. She knew it, she realized it even then, but the inner urge to do something was much stronger than any logic. Maybe it would be better if she stayed inside, she certainly was in no position to deal with the danger, and yet she knew that all that waiting in uncertainty would drive her crazy.

The sky was dark as she left the house through the back door, as almost as if nature itself knew the gravity of the events that have been taking place that day. The dark clouds swirled above the land with the inevitable touch of rain following them. The storm was underway. It remained to be seen how cruel it would turn to be.

Deborah felt the wind play with the hem of her dress and she instinctively looked up to the sky. A loud gasp escaped her mouth.

A huge pair of leathery, bat-like wings carried the creature with ease, as almost as if it was gliding through the sky, not bothered by the approaching storm, completely separated from the outside world. Yet it was real, so terrifyingly real and Deborah realized this as soon as she heard the blood-curdling scream cut through her veins.

It was a goat the size of a horse, hoofs landing on the ground with the sound of thunder echoing through the air, little sparks dancing around them as they galloped. Giant horns protruded from the bare skull of the creature, two flaming embers in the place where the eyes used to be.

It screamed again, running at high speed.

Running towards her.

“Hey!” Deborah shouted back at it, unsure whether it was brave or stupid. Perhaps the latter, given the situation.

The creature seemed to have heard her as it slowed down a little, but continued to approach her at a steady pace.

Deborah was frozen in place, not sure what to do. “What— what do you want?” Why did she speak to the creature? It was clear it could not understand her, no? Maybe the memory of the pale rider was still fresh on her mind - she didn't know the strange language he used to subdue the goat, yet it was clear it was sentient enough to understand the human voice.

Yet the monster tilted its head, its eyes a blazing crimson. It stopped mere inches away from Deborah, who was still unable to do anything but stare back in shock. The goat brought its face down to sniff her, and she continued to watch it with horror in her eyes, her heart thumping loud.

The creature, once done, stepped backward, as if pondering whether it liked what it saw or not, before it reared back, a terrifying scream echoing out of the place its mouth used to be. At the same time, thunder rolled through the sky, and rain began to pour, the cold touch of water on her skin reminding Deborah this wasn’t just a particularly horrible nightmare.

It was real.

Just before the monster leaned closer to do whatever it intended to do, Deborah heard John’s voice echo across the corner.

“Debbie! Are you al— what the HELL?!” He stared at the creature in shock, as if only now realizing it was there, its crimson gaze fixated on him with what could either be pure curiosity, or a ferocious drive to kill.

The monster let out a terrifying scream, enough to rattle his bones and make his blood freeze, but John stood firm, the thought about Deborah’s safety the only one on his mind, etched into his soul with a blazing fire, almost enough to overshadow the red stare of the creature.

And it seemed to work.

The goat shook its head in frustration, emitting a guttural, curious sound, completely fixated on John now. Something changed in its ferocious behavior, it appeared much… calmer? It perhaps wasn’t the best word for describing a monster like that, and yet…

The creature let out a short huff of its nose, or rather where the nose should be, flapped its wings with a loud sound and took to the sky.

Deborah looked at it disappear amidst the dark clouds with unmasked surprise. She wasn’t sure what exactly she saw or what made the monster flee, but only now seemed to realize how terrified she was.

She looked at the bank owner, her voice trembling. “John…”

He beckoned for her to embrace him and she collapsed in his arms, shaking. “It’s okay, I’m here,” he whispered gently, caressing her hair.

“What did it want?”

“I don’t know, but it’s gone now,” John planted a quick kiss to her forehead. “You’re safe.”

She recollected herself slightly, straightening her posture. “And… and the Burned Man?”

John shook his head. “Didn’t seem to find him, though I didn’t have much time to look around. I assume that he’s gone anyway, since that… thing flew away too.” He looked at the sky, the dark clouds swirling ominously above their heads, as the first droplets of rain hit the ground. “Now… let’s get you inside, shall we?”

* * *

The rain stopped for a while, yet it was only a matter of time before it returned, this time at full strength.

“He’ll be fine,” Mary Ann said, looking at Deborah and John sitting across the kitchen table. “The burns were not as bad as with Elijah. You should be careful, though.”

Deborah raised an eyebrow. “Did he see something?”

John shook his head. “He was too distressed and in pain to remember. Said he was attacked from behind. But his memory was messed up.”

The young painter sighed. “I should be there for him.”

“What would you do?” John couldn’t help but ask. “Harm yourself in his stead again?”

There was a look of determination on her face. “I’d rather get hurt instead of him, yes. This is my ranch, he’s working for me. He should not get hurt because of simply working here.”

“He won’t be working here anymore, I’m afraid,” Mary Ann said, a look of pity crossing her eyes. “Not many people are cut out for this work.”

“He and some of his friends,” John sighed. “Heard them whispering about leaving since it’s too dangerous here. I’ll convince them otherwise though, don’t worry.”

Deborah shook her head. “It’s my fault. I should be there. Somehow, maybe…”

Her mother laid a hand over her palm. “You can’t protect everyone.”

Deborah sighed, but her gaze softened a bit. “You are probably right. I'm still sorry for poor Nathan, though.”

Mary Ann smiled. “I know.” She stood up, gathering her coat. “Now, I’ll be going, before the storm completely catches up. I’ll be back in the morning, to check on him.”

“Alright, ride safe,” Deborah said, following her mother out.

“I’ll be out too,” John picked up his hat and straightened his vest. “I’ll talk to the workers, then head back.” He gave Debbie a quick look before lowering his voice. “Then we can talk, maybe?”

Deborah smiled gently. “I’d love that. I’ll make some tea in the meantime. How’s that sound?”

John’s eyes beamed, his hand gently caressing hers before letting go. “Lovely. I won’t be long.”

Mary Ann gave them both a knowing smile and she and John left, walking through the empty hallway.

“Madam Fawkes?” He asked as they left the ranch, stepping into the fresh air of the gathering storm.

“Yes?” She turned around.

“What do you think happened to Lionel?” John couldn’t help but be curious. “Debbie told me about him today.”

“Ah, I figured out she might,” she smiled, walking to the stables to get her horse. “Truth be told, I have no idea. He had a rather strange… aura about him. He seemed to know everything about everyone. And he told the strangest stories, yet somehow, they all sounded true.” She climbed into the saddle, adjusting her skirt slightly. “I wouldn’t think much about him but in the lights of the recent events, it makes you wonder just who he was.”

John nodded. “Indeed, much is going on we do not understand.”

She gave him a sad smile. “Makes you wish for ignorance sometimes, doesn’t it? Yet the world never gives us what we want just like that." She looked him in the eyes, a knowing gaze on her face. “Before we go and do what we feel is right.”

How did she know?

John nodded, tipping his hat towards her. “True words, ma’am. Safe ride.”

“You too, mister,” she said as she left. “You too.”

* * *

Deborah stood in front of the window, the freshly made tea giving the room a pleasant smell. Thunder rolled outside and the rain began to pour with shrill intensity. She was half a mind to grab her coat to see how John was doing when mister Ross entered the room, after a sharp knock.

“Miss Debbie! Is mister John inside?”

She raised an eyebrow. “No, he just went outside to talk to the farmhands. Why?”

The horse master looked worried. Come to think of it, it was a common expression for him. It seemed the man found it easy to feel distressed over things. Or maybe it was just a way to mask his own fears. “Farmhands? They are all inside. I just… it’s hell outside and I couldn’t find him.”

“Don’t worry,” Deborah said, masking her shaking voice. “I’m sure he’s just delayed.” Yet she went for the door immediately, almost forgetting to grab her coat.

“Are you going to look for him?” Ross asked.

“Of course,” she said, barely closing the door behind her.

The storm was raging outside as she ran. The grounds of the ranch were empty, as mister Ross said. John must have wandered off, but why?

Deborah didn’t spend much time pondering over the question as she left the grounds, running towards the plains. The silhouette of the silent oak in whose shade she used to read so often caught her eye. A figure was standing below.

She had no time for worries. Because she knew where he was.


	10. Confession

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> During the storm, Deborah is able to find John and he finally gathers the courage to confess what has been on his mind for so long.

_ “Recent storm that passed through Hope’s Peak proved to be much more powerful than what the local citizens are used to. Reports indicate damage to farmsteads as well as the case of two ripped roofs on the outskirts of the town. Local fire wardens are actively assessing the damage, yet some ranchers voice concern about their crops.” _

— “Storm Ravages the Land”, Hope’s Peak Weekly

* * *

She was running towards the lonely oak tree in the middle of the plains, her skirt flapping against her ankles, wet to the touch from the rain.

A silent silhouette stood under the tree, watching the ravaging storm as if detached from the entire situation.

“John!” She felt the surge of relief overcome her when she saw him, soaked to the bone, and yet, what a happy sight. “I’m glad I found you here.”

He smiled, gently, as he turned around to face her. “You do? I hope I didn’t make you worry too much.”

“Well, to be honest, you did,” she bit her lip, resting her hands against her hips. “I  _ do _ admit I have this habit of thinking the worst is going to happen. I’m just relieved that’s not true.”

He let out a “tsk” sound followed by a glint in his eyes. “Ah,  _ ma chérie _ , were you…  _ worried _ for me?”

“Well, yes!” She raised her hands up in frustration. “We just saw a giant flying goat, what… a couple of hours ago?  _ Of course _ I was worried. I ca—” she bit her lip again, avoiding his gaze. “I was just worried, is all.”

His voice was soft as he approached her closer. “What did you just say?”

She felt an approaching blush warm her cheeks as she gazed into his eyes. “I care for you,  _ of course _ I care for you, dammit!”

He gave her a warm smile that quickly faltered. “I know I told you I would go talk to the farmhands, but I didn’t. Not that I won’t!” He quickly recollected himself. “Just not now. The truth is I needed some time to think.”

She raised an eyebrow. “In the middle of a storm?”

“It wasn’t that bad when I left, you know that,” he grimaced. “Besides, I was already planning to return when you arrived.”

She nodded, deciding to ask perhaps a more important question. “And what were you thinking about?”

John smiled as he leaned in to take her hand, letting out a short chuckle about her flushed reaction and the shy smile on her face. “Isn’t it clear to see?  _ You _ , of course. You are all that has been on my mind for a few weeks now. And I know how that sounds after how I pushed you away. I wanted to protect you from myself, but…” he looked away before braving her gaze again, “the truth is… I deeply care for you and I have never met someone so kind as you who would accept me for who I was. Not because you would ignore my flaws. You saw them, and even criticized them, and yet, you always listen to me so intently, as if you want to know why I am this way,” he sighed. “I know it’s not an easy thing to do. I just… this whole storm made me realize how…  _ fragile _ everything is,” he looked away before meeting her gaze again. “I wanted you to know.”

“I know,” she repeated his words, yet wrapped her fingers around his, gaining a look of hope from him. “And I also know there’s some good in you. I’m  _ sure _ of that.”

He looked away. “But what if the bad overshadows the good?”

She shook her head gently. “I haven’t seen the proof of that so far. I look at you and I see a man who recognizes what he did is wrong and that already puts you one up on so many others,” she smiled, gently. “Maybe I am just naive, but I know that I don’t trust easily, and I trust you, John. After everything we’ve been through, I am certain you are a good man, deep down.”

John let out a sigh, yet pulled her closer, fingers brushing against her cheek. He placed a stray strand of hair behind her ear, eyes laced with warmth as he gazed into hers as if savoring this brief moment of softness. “I didn’t believe that before, but you have helped me realize there might be some truth in those words,” he allowed himself to admit. “I can’t promise you I’ll ever become a saint, but I can tell you, with utter honesty and certainty, that I…”

Love you.

Love you.

_ Love _ you.

He closed his eyes then opened them again, welcomed by her soft gaze, blue eyes so gentle he was certain drowning himself in them would lead his soul to absolution. “That I hold you close to my heart.”

She was silent for a while before speaking again, a soft whisper on her lips. “John…”

He looked aside, suddenly feeling unsure. “I know you must think I’m silly for taking so long to confess I have feelings for you, especially in the middle of a bloody storm, but…”

“John.”

He looked at her again, with expectation in his eyes. “Yes, dear?”

The way she smiled at him made his knees tremble. The way she raised her hand to caress his cheek, he could swear he found the place of worship he spent his entire life looking for.

It was her, in all her gentleness, soft touches, shy looks. His name on his lips.

“John…”

Just say what you want and I will tremble at your feet.

“John, I feel the same way.”

Angels in heaven couldn’t ever imitate the joy he felt upon hearing those words. Despite the storm, despite the darkness. His eyes beamed as he reached out to hold the hand that caressed his cheek. “You do? Are you sure? Even after what I did?”

She nodded, gently. “I do.”

His voice dropped ever so slightly and he could swear he was in a dream. “Will you… will you have me, then?”

She smiled, radiant, full of certainty in her heart. “I will have you. As long as you’ll have me.”

A soft chuckle escaped his lips.

“What was that?”

“Ah, nothing,” he smiled. “Just… you said the same thing in my dream.”

“I hope it was a good dream then,” she said gently.

“It was,” he admitted, eyes full of longing looking at her part-way opened lips as in expectation. “But it wasn’t as beautiful as  _ this _ .”

Nothing could ever prepare him for the sweetness of her taste, her soft lips opening for his, again and again, feeling the warmth of her tongue. He promised himself he’d be a gentleman, yet he already couldn’t help but be carried away on the soft waves of her warmth, pulling her closer to him, wet clothes against clothes, his hands digging into the fabric of her dress. He bit her lips ever so slightly, sucking in her taste, already feeling the passion build inside his body. He caressed her cheek when he finally broke away after what felt like an eternity, breathing in the hot air, eyes beaming with longing.

She looked at him with a smile on her face, cheeks burning.

He lowered his voice slightly, fingers playing with the fabric of her dress, gently pulling at the ribbon of her bodice with an unspoken suggestion as to what might come next. “Maybe we should move this someplace else? Get you warm and comfortable first.”

“Oh?” She raised an eyebrow, a sheepish smile on her face. “You mean the warm tea?”

He let out a chuckle. She was so  _ pure _ . “No,” he said gently, his free hand slithering down her back. “It’s probably cold by now, anyway. I meant getting you out of these wet clothes and making sure you get all the affection and care you might desire.” Then, upon catching himself: “Only if  _ you _ want to, of course.”

A quick realization flashed across her face. “I would  _ love _ that, but...”

He raised an eyebrow. “But?”

She bit her lip, blushing slightly. “But we should probably talk to the farmhands first. Maybe they also saw something we didn’t.”

“Oh, that,” John brushed his hair with an awkward expression on his face, as if only now remembering what happened earlier. “Of course, that’s a good idea.”

“I mean, only if you want!” she blurted out quickly, face all red. “I didn’t mean to spoil the moment, I just…”

“No, it’s okay,” he said, attempting a smile. “We can go talk to them now. Better to get it resolved quickly.” Then, lowering his voice slightly: “Right, then,” he cleared his throat, “after you.”

* * *

They found some of the workers huddled in a house near the ranch that was reserved for a common area for farmhands. They appeared to be in a hushed debate but their voices grew quickly quiet when John and Deborah entered the room.

The two of them exchanged silent looks.

“Is that thing truly gone?” One of the farmhands asked, stepping forward with an unsure expression on his face.

“It is,” John nodded. “Been away for a few hours by now. And yes, I know what you saw was crazy, but…”

“Nathan got attacked by some man!” Another one of the workers said, eyes wide. “I saw his burns, poor guy. Nobody should be able to do this to another.”

“That’s true,” John said, raising his voice ever so slightly to deafen the hushed whispers among the farmhands. “But…”

“That’s not natural!” The previous worker yelled. “I’ve never seen— How could you ever explain something like this?!”

“You can’t,” John shook his head, speaking calmly. “But that’s not what’s important. You are safe  _ now _ . Nathan is in expert hands and he will be fine soon, I will see to that.”

“Safe now?” The farmhand shook his head. “Yeah, but what if that… thing returns again? What will we do?”

“We will hire armed protection,” John suggested. “I sincerely doubt this accident will happen again, but your safety as workers here is paramount and if it helps keep your minds at peace, we will do it,” he looked at Deborah and she nodded in silent affirmation.

“Armed guards?” Another farmhand shook his head, a man in his forties with silver hair and a betrayed look on his face. “You need an  _ exorcist _ at least. You can’t fight monsters with strength alone. Only God’s servants could help here.”

John blinked incredulously. “If that’s what you ask, I will get you an exorcist. My brother—”

“Your brother resides in the church near Devil’s Point,” he cut him off. “If he can’t even take care of a grave robbery, what good could he do here?” He shook his head. “You know, they told me this place was cursed. I didn’t believe them a word, of course. But now, after what I’ve seen… this is no place to be.”

He earned an approving wave of whispers from the crowd.

“He’s right!” A woman shouted. “I got kids at home, I ain’t gonna make them motherless over flying goats and flaming murderers!”

“Yeah! We value our lives!”

“This is stupid!”

The silver-haired man shook his head. “I’m sorry, miss Debbie, but we can’t do this if we fear for our lives.”

“Now, now,” John raised his hands, a look of determination on his face. “I know you are scared. We all are. It’s natural. But as I said, there are certain precautions we can make to avoid this from ever happening. And I can promise you, I really can, none of you will come to harm if you just listen to me.”

A few of the workers exchanged whispers before calming down a bit, ready to listen to whatever John had to say, but they were quickly cut off by some of the less convinced.

“What are you even saying?! You’re not in charge here!” One of them shouted.

“Yeah!” A few others followed. “You’re not our boss!”

“I have hired you, for Christ’s sake,” John closed his eyes and sighed. “What does that make me?”

“You don’t own the ranch!”

“Yes! He just goes around as if he owned the place! Telling us what to do!”

_ ‘You think you are mighty clever, don’t ya?’  _ Sam’s voice echoed through his mind.

_ ‘Walking through here as if you owned the fucking place.’ _

John ignored the anger building up inside him and opened his mouth to speak, but before he could even say a word, Deborah stepped in.

“No, he doesn’t own the ranch, but I do,” she said calmly, but her voice was trembling.

The workers grew silent, taken aback by her sudden decision to speak up. She knew she only had a few moments before they start talking over each other.

“I know you fear for your lives and I can’t make you stay. But I don’t have that choice. This is  _ my _ home and I  _ have _ to make it work. I  _ will _ make it work. It’s my legacy, my only… my only…”

Purpose.

My only  _ purpose _ .

The only thing keeping me from staying in bed all day. My entire life used to be centered around that simple struggle. Of _ being alive _ . Ever since my father came home drunk that one day. And now… now I have something holding me together. And it’s not another person, it’s something  _ mine _ .

I have to do it.

For my uncle.

For myself.

Because I’m sick of waiting.

Waiting until  _ something _ happens.

‘Until I make the ranch work’, ‘until I sell enough paintings’, ‘until I’m finally free to be happy’.

No.

There’s no waiting.

This is happening  _ now _ .

She sighed. “You can go if you wish. But before you do so, I will ask you one question: Is there anything I can do to make you stay?”

A few of the workers firmly shook their heads, yet some of them decided to answer: “Better pay! Definitely!”

“Yes, we aren’t risking our lives for nothing!”

“Alright,” Deborah answered. “I will raise your pay. Is that it?”

“And the hired guards mister John mentioned!”

“Yeah! Someone to keep a look while we work!”

“At least until we all feel safer!”

“You will have them,” she said resolutely. “Until you all feel safer here. You have my word.”

“It better be worth it,” the silver-haired man said, but he nodded. “I will stay.”

“Yeah, me too,” someone else followed and a few of the workers agreed as well. A considerable amount of farmhands called them fools and decided to leave anyway, but a few of them decided to stay despite what happened. Deborah allowed herself to call it a small victory. She has never been very skilled at persuading people. Especially not in a situation like that.

She and John left the building and she felt her heart soar the first time in that day. “Well, that actually went better than expected,” she said towards John with a smile on her place. “I didn’t actually think we could make any of them stay.”

He smiled, taking her by her hand, a knowing smile on his face as if he understood the true reason for her determination. “You did it more than me. I’m proud.”

She let out a short laugh, finally able to put the horrible situation of the day behind, at least slightly. Then, as if only remembering something important: “We do have the money to raise their pay, don’t we?”

John nodded, a little grin on his face over her flushed expression. “We do. And if your funds are lacking I can still put in something from my own pockets.”

“Oh no,” she shook her head, “I could never accept that.”

“It’s not up for debate,” he said firmly, but there was warmth in his eyes. “Do we understand each other?”

“Oh, I…” she bit her lower lip and nodded. “ _ Thank you _ .”

He smiled. “Glad we have come to an understanding.”

They stood together silent for a while, gazing into each other’s eyes with unspoken feelings on their minds.

“Now, I believe we’ve left some matters rather unattended,” John said smoothly, his free hand slithering down her waist. “Don’t you think?” Then, as if remembering himself: “Only if you didn’t change your mind, of course.”

She looked him in the eyes. “I didn’t,” she smiled.

“You sure?” He grinned. “There’s still time!”

“I am perfectly sure,” she stood up on her toes to plant a short kiss to his cheek, her lips lingering on his skin for a moment. “But I believe we should get out of the storm first.”

“Oh, a perfect idea,” John let out a smile as if only now realizing the pouring rain above their heads. He gestured towards the ranch, a promise of solace from the cold storm as it stood amidst the plains under the cover of the dark sky of the evening. “After you, m’lady.” 

* * *

As the front door closed behind them, the sound of the rain now only a dim noise of droplets pounding at the roof. Finally alone, he leaned in to meet her lips before pushing her against the wall, a soft gasp of surprise escaping her mouth. He kept her close, one hand holding her cheek, fingers pressed ever so lightly to her neck. She let out a soft moan, eyes filled with longing staring into his between the kisses, her fingers in his hair.

He took her by the hand, a smile on his face as he led her up the stairs, leaning in here and there to steal a kiss as they went through the hallway and towards her room.

John closed the door behind them, hands caressing her hips. He planted a gentle kiss to the side of her neck and then, his lips still lingering on her skin: “Maybe we should get out of these wet clothes first?”

She nodded, slowly. “I agree,” she said as she reached to untie her bodice but John interrupted her.

“May I?” his voice was unusually quiet as if he was afraid he could ruin the moment.

Deborah looked him in the eyes, a faint blush on her cheeks. “Yes.”

He smiled before he leaned in for a kiss, taking in her taste as he worked his way through the ribbon holding her bodice in place, removing her cold, wet clothes, letting them fall to the ground. When he was done he broke away, offering her a hand to help her step away from the scattered dress on the floor.

He gave her one long look, eyes so inquisitive she couldn’t help but blush under his intent gaze. He was looking at her with such interest as someone gazing at a holy idol - not with ravenous pleasure but with utter devotion and amazement.

He laid his hand on her hip, gently caressing her cheek as he looked into her eyes again. “You are beautiful,” he whispered, completely taken aback by her grace.

She was ethereal, her soft, thin frame as the one of an angel, standing bare in front of him with no fear in her eyes.

She smiled, leaning into his touch before she turned her head to kiss the inside of his palm. “Thank you.”

How could she be so raw, so incandescent, so incredibly soft? John didn’t know and yet, he didn’t care. How could he ever repay her kindness? She was standing right there, offering herself to him and while all his inner passion wanted to make her his right then right there, he also wished to savor the moment as much as he could.

He looked at her, hands slithering down her skin as if trying to etch how she felt under his touch into his memory, gazing into her eyes all the way through. He trailed his fingers upwards, circling her small breasts, a soft moan escaping her lips. John let out a smile as he pressed his forehead to hers, rubbing his finger over her hardened nipple with one hand, the other supporting her hip.

She bit her lower lip, feeling the pulsating warmth between her thighs as his hand slithered downwards, tickling her belly ever so slightly.

“You are so beautiful,” he whispered again, watching her with intent, smiling after every single moan she made.

His touch burned into her skin when he reached between her legs, a soft gasp escaping her lips as she stared into his eyes.

He watched her with such interest, observing her every move, every twitch of the muscles, making sure to remember every single way she responded to his touch, taking in all the things he could make her feel.

He took her in his arms, letting her wrap her legs around his waist as he carried her to the bed, laying her soft body amidst the sheets. He leaned in, rubbing the back of his fingers against her flushed cheeks, smiling into the kiss when he met her lips.

How could he ever feel so happy?

Was she even real?

She was the beauty incarnate, radiating light, her eyes looking into his and his only and he felt blessed to ever be the one she has chosen.

What did he do to deserve such goodness in his life?

A creeping doubt could not find its way into his mind back then as he removed his clothes, never as much as breaking eye contact, leaning in to steal a kiss here and there.

He wasn’t sure exactly where he let his clothes land but it didn’t matter. When done, he took her in his arms, pressing her body against his so he could feel her warmth etched against his own. He rested his head in the crook of her neck, hot breath against her skin: “Do you want it?”

She waited for him to break away to look into her eyes. He was hoping for a “yes”, of course, yet he wanted the decision to be hers.

She nodded, slowly. “I do.” Then, biting her lower lip. “But…” A rumble of thunder roared across the sky, taking her words away.

He felt his muscles twitch. “ _ But _ ?”

She forced herself to look him in the eyes. “But later?” She shivered again as another thunder echoed through the air and only now John recognized the slight fear in her eyes.

“I’m so sorry,” she muttered out loud. “I just still feel shaken from everything,” she darted her eyes towards the windows as a slice of lightning illuminated the room. She looked at John again. “I’m so sorry, I…”

“It’s okay,” he heard himself say, laying a kiss on her forehead. “Are you afraid of storms?”

She gave him an insecure look. “What gave me away?”

John smiled ever so slightly. “The shaking and startled look, mostly.”

She avoided his gaze. “I’m sorr—”

She was cut away by a kiss as he caressed her cheek. “It’s alright, my dear,” he said again, laying on his back and gesturing for her to rest his head on his chest.

He was warm, so reassuringly warm. With his arms wrapped around her shoulders, Deborah felt the safest she has ever been.

“I’m here,” he whispered reassuringly as he pulled the blanket over them. “Are you comfortable?”

She nodded, snuggling closer to him. “Thank you.”

“I’m here,” he repeated, gently, before kissing her on the top of her head as she closed her eyes.

They laid together like that for a while, in a silent embrace, before the night slowly took over, the soft blanket of sleep a relieving touch. John hadn’t felt such ease falling asleep for months, ever since the troubles at the ranch started. And yet, that night, he slept peacefully, with her body pressed against his, arms wrapped around her. He didn’t even mind the night didn’t go exactly as he hoped.

Is that what happiness feels like?

For I am afraid of what I’d do should I lose her.

And yet, could I ever let go?

No, as long as she’d have me.

As long as she’d have me. 

* * *

She was roused by the gentle touch of the sun on her eyelids. Deborah opened her eyes, blinking away the sleep as a yawn escaped her lips.

Nearby, Balthazar purred softly on the bed, his golden eyes watching her with interest.

“Aww, good morning,” she murmured, reaching out to stroke the cat behind his ears.

“Good morning,” John rolled on his side with a smile that slowly turned into a grin when he saw Balthazar. “Oh, you were talking to him.”

She let out a short laugh as she turned to face him. “Good morning to you too, John.”

He supported himself on his elbows to lean in for a short kiss. “How did you sleep?”

She stretched her arms above her head, stifling another yawn. “Very well, actually. You?”

“It was perfect,” he hummed, then took her in his arms and rolled to his back so she would rest her head against his chest. She let out a short gasp followed by a giggle at that action, then sighed with content as she supported her chin on her palms to look into his eyes.

They stayed like that for a while before she left his embrace, sitting up to stretch her arms. He watched her all the way through, with a pleasured smile on his face. “Hmm, nice view there, my lady.”

She let out a giggle, putting her hands to her hips. “Glad you are enjoying yourself.”

One last, long yawn escaped her lips before she shook her head, letting her hair fall freely on her back. She laid down again, unwilling to leave the bed for a while for some reason. John crawled over her, gently removing a strand of hair from her face.

“You are so beautiful,” he said again.

She let out a soft chuckle, her chest vibrating under him. “You said it already, yesterday. Careful or I’ll become too smug.”

He leaned in, kissing her again, yet it always felt like the first time, her taste so sweet and angelic on his tongue. “That’s a risk I’m willing to take.”

He rested his head in the crook of her chest, fingers trailing downwards, drawing gentle patterns on her skin, her breasts, a hum of approval escaping his chest as she moaned softly under his touch.

She looked at him, biting her lower lip, cheeks flushed from the previous night still.

“You are ethereal,” he whispered as he raised his head, his tongue circling her nipple while his fingers tickled her belly as they slithered downwards.

“You are  _ divine _ ,” he said as he moved away, kissing her body as he went, her breasts, her belly, the insides of her thighs. He gave her a smile as he gently spread her legs open.

She felt the warmth trail down her body, breaking apart under his touch, her toes curling as he worked his way through her warmth, looking up at her from between her legs.

He felt her body shiver, just a little. “Are you cold,  _ my dear _ ?” He asked, a little smirk on his lips.

“Just a little,” she admitted, biting her lip with a smile.

“Mhmm, is that so?” He hummed, pressing a kiss to the inside of her knee as he lifted it upon his shoulder. “Let’s get you  _ warm _ , then.”

He held onto her tightly, yet gently as if afraid pushing too hard would make her break apart in his embrace. He gazed into her eyes all the way through, captivated by her flushed face as he embraced her in her entirety, feeling her,  _ all _ of her in his arms, their bodies clashing against each other in such a wonderful wave of pleasure and absolution.

_ Salvation. _

He took her hand and laid it on the back of his head, letting out a pleasured moan when she pulled at his hair ever so slightly. He didn’t mind, nor did he mind her nails pressed into the skin of his back. If anything, it drove him ever so closer to the edge. He smiled at her, hands wrapped tightly around her shoulders, resting his head in the crook of her neck, inhaling her scent, her moans a sound of utter pleasure to his soul as she pleaded in his embrace - “John” - did she say his name? So sweet a sound coming from her lips.

He dug his fingers into her skin, a cry escaping her mouth before he loosened his grip a little, yet still holding onto her as if she was the anchor of his salvation, delivering him from the darkness.

And as far as he knew, it was true.

He let out a gasp as his warmth met hers, his pace slowing down slightly before they both laid together in an embrace, breathing into the hot air.

John rested his head on her chest, listening to her beating heart while she brushed his hair. They laid like that for a while before he raised his head to meet her eyes. “I hope you feel warm enough now,” he joked, laying a kiss on the top of her head.

She let out a giggle as he moved away to make space for her to lay on top of him, resting her head in the crook of his neck. “I do, indeed, sir.”

“Sir?” He purred, hands caressing her shoulders gently.

She raised her head, smiling. “You have a problem with that word?”

“It’s so formal,” he smirked. “But you said a different thing just a few moments before if I remember correctly.”

“Oh that,” she blushed, avoiding his gaze. “I know I said your name. I hope you don’t mind—”

“Mind?” He chuckled, pulling her closer, chin resting against the top of her head, inhaling the sweet scent of her hair. “I  _ love _ it.”

I love  _ you _ .

She smiled. “I’m glad you do.”

“Mhm,” he purred. “Feel free to scream my name  _ anytime _ , my dear.”

She giggled, shaking her head slightly. “I was wondering when the classic John would show up again.”

“I’m sorry but the classic John is all you’re going to get,” he laughed. “You’re still free to run, though.”

She caressed his cheek, face flushed with pleasure and laughter and he could swear he saw the face of God. “ _ Never _ .”

I love you.

Oh, I  _ love _ you.

I know I can’t tell you just yet. Am I afraid? Why am I afraid?

The sun in the sky alone gave you its radiance. The flowers turn their heads towards you as you walk, wishing to envelop themselves in your light.

Is that what I’ve become?

All I see is your warmth, all I crave is to feel your incandescent touch upon my skin.

If this is my confession, I have nothing to hide. Not from you.

If this is absolution, I must have been blessed, for sweet divine grace above, I’m not sure I deserve it.

If this is salvation then I know I will be a happy man.

As long as I have you by my side.

“I could get used to this, you know,” he allowed himself to admit, hands gently stroking her hair, so beautifully tangled.

It was probably in the morning where he could gaze at her and even though her eyes were laced with sleep, her hair a mess, he couldn’t find a single imperfection about her. She was beautiful, in that very special way.

She ran her fingers across his chest, drawing soft patterns on his skin. “Me too.”

“Mhm?” He smirked. “We should do it more often, then.”

She giggled, shaking her head, though her eyes were warm. “By  _ all _ means, I have  _ no _ objections.” Then, she made a face, wrinkling her nose a bit. “Though I feel a bit hungry. No, I'm positively  _ starved _ . I should probably go and make us something to eat.”

“Not a chance,” he smirked, pinning her against the bed, letting a soft gasp of surprise out of her. “Let me do it, okay?”

“Are you sure?” She smiled. “You are my guest after all.”

“It’s the least I can do,” he said, pressing a quick kiss to her forehead before getting up from the bed. “I should make up for making you stay up so late last night.”

She supported herself on her elbows to watch him go around the room looking for his clothes. “Well, when you put it that way,” she couldn’t help but smile.

“Don’t worry,” he said as he quickly buttoned up his shirt. “I’ve been here so many times I already know where everything in the kitchen is.”

“Thank you,” she watched him with affection, something that made his heart sing.

“Don’t rejoice yet,” he joked. “I’m not a good cook at all.”

She giggled. “I’m sure it will be alright. Besides, it’s the thought that counts.”

“I’ll make you repeat that when you’ll have any objections to the breakfast I made,” he smirked and left the room.

If anyone ever told him he’d feel such  _ joy _ in his soul mere months ago, he would laugh, bitterly. And yet, there he was, smiling, his heart at peace, filled to the brim with such affection he thought wasn’t even possible for anyone like him.

Surely, it must be some trick.

And yet, there was nothing in his life he’d be so sure of.

She has always been a beacon of light for him and he was ready to treasure her as a friend and a friend only despite his deep feelings for her. He wouldn’t dream she’d ever want to have him in her life after he pushed her away.

_ And yet _ .

Maybe he wasn’t such a wretch after all.

Or maybe the divine grace loves even the sinners, at least the ones who are ready to repent.

And he was,  _ oh _ , he was.

But could she really be his salvation?

He was sure of that, though a lingering fear crept into his soul. What would he do if he lost her?

Not that he wanted to cling to her desperately, he was sure that would only drive her away.

And maybe… just maybe, there was nothing to be afraid of, for once.

Could he really deserve it? Someone like her? After  _ everything _ ?

He wasn’t sure, but he was sure that his heart has never felt such peace before.

Not since he had her by his side.


	11. The Devil in the Graveyard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Deborah and John venture to the town of Prosperity to seek answers. Meanwhile, Lionel, the cheerful but mysterious vagrant makes another appearance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've included a spotify link to one (1) track intended to be listened to while reading through specific scenes (completely non-obligatory, but it might help with the atmosphere). It’s marked with [►] in the text (link included).

_ “After the recent storm ravaged the farmlands around Hope’s Peak, the town of Prosperity is slowly opening their trade route again. The area around the town was mostly spared and didn’t suffer greatly from the change of weather. However, sheriff Bigsby claimed the town needed some time to deal with the damage that was caused - it is of no news that Prosperity has often closed access to the town during troublesome events, but the road is now open for traders and visitors. We kindly remind travelers that Prosperity is positioned on a rather steep hill, hence they should leave their horses behind before they begin the climb.” _

— “Road to Prosperity open again”, Hope’s Peak Weekly

* * *

It was a hazy morning, one of those that makes you wonder whether the day has only just begun or if it’s nearing the gloom of the evening again. To Lionel, it made little difference.

He was leaning against a cold stone wall strumming his guitar, smiling as he sang. It was a good song, he wrote it himself - one of his better ones, indeed. He always believed taking inspiration from the real world makes them all sound so unique in their own way. He continued to smile as he performed for nobody in particular, not bothered by the weather or his surroundings at all.

_ “Pale rider, pale rider, _

_ hoofs beating down into the sand, _

_ pale rider, pale rider, _

_ he’s come to take me now that I’m at my end.” _

The girl that worked a few feet away from him leaned onto her shovel and gave him a suspicious look. “And where did _you_ come from?”

“Me?” Lionel stopped singing yet continued to play his guitar absentmindedly. “I’ve been here for a while.”

She shook her head, doubt in her eyes. “No, you haven’t. I’d have noticed.”

Lionel smiled, his white grin a grotesque sight against the gloom of the day. “Trust me, dear, you wouldn’t. Don’t worry, it happens all the time.”

He tilted his head to the side to get a better look at the pile of dirt near the girl’s feet, never as much as breaking his smirk. “Who’s the grave for?”

She sighed but didn’t bat an eye. “For me.”

Lionel let out a whistle as a little smile spread on his face. “A bleak place to dig one’s grave.”

It _was_ bleak. A lonely, decrepit cemetery in the middle of the woods; many of the gravestones consisted of make-shift boards and stones dangerously leaning to the side as if they were about to collapse at any moment. The rest of the graves were just hastily covered mounds of dirt one could easily walk over without noticing.

The girl’s face was emotionless or so it seemed - inner desperation oozed out of her eyes; there were no tears but a heart doesn’t need tears to cry. “Is there a _cheerful_ place to dig a grave?”

Lionel paused for a while, thinking. “Depends. Life’s too short to take it seriously, anyway. Why do you want to throw away yours?”

She shook her head. “I made a deal.”

He raised an eyebrow, really intrigued for the first time. Setting his guitar aside, he gave the girl an inquisitive look. “A deal?”

She let out a sigh. “You wouldn’t understand. There was a man… I asked him to do something for me. Now that it’s done, he wants something in return.”

Lionel felt a creeping feeling in his gut. Oh, he sure as hell hoped this was going the way he was thinking. “Now _what’s_ done?”

She let her shovel fall to the ground and looked him in the eyes. “My husband. I asked him to get rid of my husband.”

“Oh,” Lionel let out a short cough. “He was mean to you?”

She shuddered. “More than that.”

“And this man…” he continued to talk, feeling a surge of understanding, “he wants something of yours in return?”

“So I’m digging myself a grave,” she nodded, again, though her posture betrayed a certain annoyance with his presence. It was a natural thing, however, and Lionel didn’t even pay mind to it anymore. People like him were always hard to… tolerate. It was his fault though, to be fair. Not that he would ever change.

The girl took her shovel again to return to her work but stopped for a moment to smell the air. A strong wind picked up, shaking the leaves, making it sound almost as if the trees were whispering to each other. The girl looked into the approaching fog. “He’s coming.”

He was a man of a tall and slender posture, in his early thirties. He wore an elegant black hat with a single card adorning it, matched by a well-tailored suit. He carried himself with a powerful presence of someone who is very important and knows it, his light blue eyes shining with an unusual brightness as he approached the cemetery. A knowing smirk spread across his clean-shaven face as soon as his gaze fell on Lionel. “Ah, old _friend_,” he removed his hat in a greeting, revealing sleek black hair. “How fare you?”

The girl stepped backward, displaying perhaps the first visible sign of emotion. “You _know_ each other?”

Both men ignored her question as they shook each other’s hands.

“Just the usual,” Lionel smiled. “I see you got ye horses back, hm?”

The tall gentleman let out a ‘tsk’ sound. “You know they really aren’t mine. Well, I guess it depends on how you look at it.” He reached for his pocket and brandished a wooden pipe. It was an exquisite work of art, with a golden head in the shape of a skull.

“_She_ owns all the souls, you know that,” he continued to say as he went looking for a match in his breast pocket. He shook his head, then gave the girl a quick look before simply snapping his fingers; a tiny flame enveloped his thumb for a second before a steady trail of crimson smoke started to emit from the pipe, through the skull’s eyes. The gentleman gave Lionel a quick shrug and a mischievous grin before continuing. “So technically the horses should be hers. But yes, I have been charged with keeping an eye on all the despicable ones, as you well know.”

Lionel let out a short chuckle. “Bad and dark is your forte, my friend.”

The gentleman winked at him. “It very well is.”

The girl continued to watch them with silent shock on her face. She wasn’t sure what was about to unfold but she sure as hell didn’t want to find out. At least yet.

Lionel paused for a while, looking at the swaying trees. “And I see the old chap is no longer caring for the herd too. Gave him a new job, didn’t you?”

The gentleman exhaled a thick line of smoke from his pipe, then looked at the sky, pondering over something before he spoke again. “In a sense. He’s his own man, after all. But he still owes me.”

_ He always will. _

“So I have heard,” Lionel nodded. “The leader of the Riders now, huh?” He couldn’t help but smile. “Isn’t it ironic? Traversing the country looking for more despicable souls to join their rank. I admit I like your imagination. Isn’t it funny how all the stories turn out to be true in the end? Ghost riders?” He waved his hands in the air. “Horses with flaming eyes?”

The gentleman continued to smoke from his pipe; he was all-too-well accustomed to Lionel’s chatty behavior by now.

When the scoundrel saw that he won’t be getting any answers this way he tried to pick a different topic of discussion. “And now you are here for her,” he nodded towards the girl gazing at them with fear in her eyes. “Isn’t that a tad bit cruel?”

“Cruel?” The gentleman raised his voice yet remained calm. “I didn’t make her strike a deal. I never do, in fact. Nobody forces their hands.”

Lionel gave it a thought, tilting his head to the side. “Well, when ya put it that way…”

“But no,” the gentleman said, “I’m not here for her.”

“Not here for me?” The girl found the courage to enter the conversation. “But we had a deal—”

The men turned their attention to the young woman for the first time as if only now realizing she was still present. “We did,” the gentleman nodded. “But I only take _despicable_ souls. Dark, twisted. You are not one. Your _husband_, however…”

In a sudden response, a gunshot echoed through the sky, followed by an angry yell.

“Ah,” the gentleman smiled. “There he comes. _Right on time_.”

The man in question was in his late thirties and he was practically running towards the cemetery, the anger in his eyes burning like the flames of hell. “Anna! There you are, you unfaithful bitch!” Only then he noticed the two men standing nearby.

“_Two_?!” He shouted. “I’d kill you for one but two?! _At the same time_?!”

“Trust me, this isn’t how it looks,” Lionel raised his hands, attempting to look serious, though a knowing smile threatened to spread on his lips.

The girl let her shovel fell to the ground, her hands shaking. Only now did Lionel realize she couldn’t be older than eighteen.

“Trust _you_?!” The husband yelled. “Not how it looks?!” His gaze fell to the ground, to the open grave as shock filled his eyes. “What is-?!” He quickly added things together, reaching for his revolver and brandishing it out as if it were a flaming weapon.

“So that’s your plan?!” His hand shook a little, though any thought about him dropping the weapon was fruitless; he was much more prone to start shooting mindlessly. Maybe it wouldn’t save his life, but it would certainly make him feel better. “You want to get rid of me?! After whoring and selling yourself out?! After what I’ve done for you?!” He pointed the gun at her, eyes burning. “I gave you a roof over your head! You had _nothing _before me! Nothing! Do you hear me?! Nothing!”

“Now, now, now,” the gentleman’s voice was perfectly calm and smooth, like the decadent touch of sin glistening under the moonlight, “there’s no need for all _that_. You might as well come quietly.”

“You are crazy!” The man shook his head, unsure where to aim his weapon first. “Crazy if you think you can take me without a fight!”

“Kindly put that weapon down,” the gentleman continued on without a hint of emotion in his voice. “It’ll save me the work.”

“Who the fuck do you think you are?!” The man’s face was a grimace of anger; Lionel recognized that look. It was similar to how sick, rabid dogs had flaming fury in their eyes, right before someone put them to the ground. “You have no say over who lives and dies!”

“I don’t,” the gentleman agreed, “I'm just doing my job.” And then, another snap of the fingers, a twist, a pivot, and the man’s hand started to turn, the revolver slowly facing his chin, like the gaping mouth of a monster.

“How?!” For the first time fear took over the man’s gaze, watching his own hand, his own finger leaning against the trigger ever so slightly. He tried to fight back, but fruitlessly.

His wife put hands over her face, refusing to look at it, her whole body trembling.

“Well, mister Millers, is that correct?” The gentleman continued, as the first sign of a smirk spread on his face. He wasn’t enjoying the act per se but sending bastards like that to hell? Sure felt like a job well done at the end of the day. “I think we should contact the Pale Rider. Seems his company has one saddle reserved just for you.”

The woman’s scream echoed in unison with the gunshot, blood splattering onto the ground. Startled rooks fled from the trees, leaving concerned caws in their wake. The gentleman looked at the scene with an emotionless expression. It was done.

The girl fell to her knees, mouth covered with her hands. She looked at the gentleman as if he was a demon, a _murderer_. So much for trying to help, eh? At last, she managed to gather herself for a bit, staring at her husband’s body, a pool of crimson blossoming around his head. “What am I— what am I going to tell them?”

Ah, the sheriff and his men. Of course. Complications? Not really. Not for the likes of _him_.

He laid a palm on her shoulder, yet somehow it felt more like a heavy weight than a comforting touch to her. “Tell them you found him like this. Tried to prepare a grave for himself but then something… someone startled him, yes? As far as we know, he _did_ shoot himself, right?”

She nodded, slowly, eyes full of shock. “Y-yes.” Maybe if she kept repeating that to herself she would believe it someday.

The two men slowly left the cemetery, leaving the confused sobs of the girl behind as Lionel already conjured a tune on his guitar. “What about our footprints? Won’t they leave a mark or somethin’?”

The gentleman shrugged, once again inhaling from his pipe, a crimson smoke making his eyes glow. “_What_ footprints?”

Lionel raised an eyebrow then looked down at the ground. Tiny flames danced around his companion’s shoes, burning out any trace of the marks they would leave - the ground appearing untouched. The vagrant let out a chuckle then shook his head. “Up for a little ride?”

His companion smiled. “Always.”

* * *

They were riding just at the edge of a crevice, the long drop underneath revealing the roofs of dilapidated houses - Devil’s Point. Not many dared to venture so close but not many were so accustomed to such danger as Lionel and his friend.

The vagrant was sitting in the saddle playing his guitar, a song on his lips. He was singing about Devil’s Point, of course. Seeing as the town seemed to be swallowed by a gaping hole from hell, it wasn’t hard to make particularly gruesome songs about it. Besides, it was _fun_.

“You seem to be awfully chipper, my friend,” the gentleman couldn’t help but point out.

“Hm?” Lionel stopped singing. “Don’t tell me you didn’t have fun today.”

His companion let out a dry chuckle. “I was just doing my job, you know that. No, there’s one difference between the two of us. I work based on my principles, you…” he looked side-ways at him, “you are just a bastard who likes to see people suffer.”

Lionel shrugged, not bothered in the slightest. “I need to get my fun somewhere, eh?”

The gentleman opened his mouth to speak, but he was interrupted by a loud, blood-curdling scream - no, a _cacophony_ of demonic yells as if straight out of hell. It was coming from the town bellow; Devil’s Point itself was screaming, announcing its presence. And it _would_ be heard.

The gentleman didn’t seem concerned. Instead, with a cold gaze in his eyes, he turned his head, slowly, calmly, towards the hell’s bottom underneath. Then he opened his mouth.

Lionel has seen many a dark thing in his days but even he felt his heart, or what was left of it, shiver uncontrollably under the sound that came out of his friend’s throat.

The gentleman _screamed_, in the same horrifying tone as whatever demon dwelled in the midst of Devil’s Point, his voice a crooked parody of a yell, something so dark and twisted no human should be able to control.

Good thing the tall dark gentleman wasn’t human.

In a second, all went quiet. Silence flooded the town with a gentle touch of death. Whatever has awakened deep inside, it calmed down just as soon as it heard a familiar voice. The _voice_ even the worst monsters feared.

The spectacle was over soon and the two of them continued riding.

Lionel waited a minute before opening his mouth again. “I thought _they_ were supposed to be contained by now, no? Isn’t that like… your job?”

“No,” the gentleman shook his head. “It really isn’t.”

“Yeah?” Lionel raised his eyebrow. “Aren’t _they_ like from hell or something along those lines?”

His companion smiled. It wasn’t a pleasant smile. “Look around, my friend. This _is_ hell.”

As they rode, a gentle wind picked up, taking up the card adorning the gentleman’s hat. The piece of carton flickered in the air for a while before falling on the ground. A small flame engulfed the card, burning it to a crisp; but before doing so, the picture on it shone in bright, glowing light, revealing the name of the tarot in bold, crimson letters:

_ The Devil. _

* * *

The sun rays were creeping through the opened windows, gentle summer breeze playing with Deborah’s hair as she was brushing it. She was sitting in front of a vanity, eyes still laced from sleep but with a glimmer of the fresh promise of a new day. And that day was going to be special indeed. With a little lump in her throat, she couldn’t really help but feel some excitement about what was going to unfold. Or fear. The dividing line between the two was seldom clear.

“Are you ready?” John entered the room, a quick smirk on his face as he saw her half-dressed form. “Oh, there goes my answer.”

“Not yet,” she smiled, “but it’s not going to take long, _I promise_.”

He knelt behind her chair, resting his chin on her shoulder gently. “Looking like that you can take all the time you need.”

Deborah let out a chuckle that quickly transformed into a sigh as his fingers trailed across her chest.

“Are you excited about our little trip?” he asked innocently, his thumb rubbing gently around her nipple.

She looked at his reflection in the mirror. “Yes... In a way. I really hope we can find some answers in Prosperity.”

“We will,” he stood up, planting a kiss on her forehead. “One way or another. _I promise_.”

“Well, I will have to get dressed up for that first,” she said, setting her comb aside. She went for the wardrobe, coming up with a white blouse and a blue bodice adorned with embroidered flowers.

“Here, let me help you,” John interrupted her just as she was about to put the blouse on. A quick look of surprise flashed over her face but she smiled. “Oh, _thank you_.”

“It’s only fair, after all,” he said with a smirk as he slowly buttoned the blouse up. “When I have no trouble undressing you I should also help to dress you up.”

“Well, if you put it that way,” she giggled.

John stepped away when done. “Ready?”

“Almost!” she raised a finger with a smile and opened the wardrobe again. “Where did I… oh there it is!”

With a grin on her face she put on a brown pinch front hat - it was an older piece, made from leather, yet it had some nostalgic charm to it. She put her hands on her hips. “How do I look?”

“Amazing,” John smiled. “Where did you get it from?”

“It was my uncle’s. I used to steal it from him all the time,” she let out a short chuckle. “Always was too big for my head when I was little.”

“He really loved you,” John said, without really intending to.

A shadow passed over her face, quickly hidden beneath a smile. “He did.”

_ Maybe still has. _

_ Maybe a bit of him remembers. _

_ Maybe a bit of him remains. _

* * *

“It’s awfully scorching today, isn’t it,” John complained from his saddle as they rode through a narrow forest path.

“Is it?” Debbie shrugged. “I couldn’t tell, warm weather suits me,” she smiled. “Or maybe it’s because I don’t wear black in summer.”

“Hey!” He made a face. “Black suits _me_.”

She shrugged, a playful smirk on her face. “You also look quite good in blue, you know?”

He raised an eyebrow with a grin. “You think so?”

She gave him a knowing smile but said nothing.

“Right,” John said after a while, “we gotta continue on foot from now on if I remember correctly.”

“Oh, of course,” she was already dismounting from her horse. “I almost forgot.”

They arrived at a forest clearing, right under a steep hill. A narrow path was cutting through the dirt and short grass.

“Ah yes, how was it?” Deborah looked ahead with a tired smile. “There are no roads leading to Prosperity.”

“I still think the main reason is so they can be all gloomy when they say that,” John claimed, a short laugh escaping his mouth as he tied their horses to a nearby tree.

Debbie gave him a worried look. “I hope nobody steals them.”

“Don’t worry,” John grinned. “Emperor’s a beast, he won’t let anyone near him except for me. Had him since a foal. C’mon, it’s just a short walk from here.”

A little reassured by his words, Debbie gave Strawberry a last friendly pat on the forehead and followed him. It was a short hike indeed, but given the extremely steep terrain, Deborah soon found it hard to catch her breath. No wonder people from Prosperity had to always climb down whenever a trader passed the town. She wondered what was the whole reason behind this reclusiveness. But then again, Prosperity has always been one of those small towns hidden in the woods, it’s people keeping to themselves, wary of strangers. God knows what was actually happening there but some things are better left unanswered, after all.

John looked back at her, noticing her tired panting. “You okay?”

She gave him a tired smile. “Yes, just feeling as if my lungs were burning. I’m not a total stranger to hiking in the middle of the woods, but,” she paused to catch her breath, “but you would think the more you do it the better at it you become.”

John let out a short laugh. “You’d have to practice way more often for that.”

“Well,” she shrugged, “it’s something I should work on for the rest of the summer.”

“_We_,” he turned around, his gaze soft at the edges. “Something _we_ should work on.” Then: “Together. If you want to, of course.”

“Oh… yes,” she gave him a smile, her cheeks burning. She held her hat in place as she looked at the path in front of her. “_We_…”

“I have some other good news too,” he smirked, turning around to look at the road, “we are here.”

“Oh thank God.” She gathered herself to catch a breath as the terrain in front of her flattened and turned into a narrow dust road. Just a few feet away a wooden arch overlooked the path, nestled amidst spruce trees. Behind it, the road widened into a small town square with a simple well in the center and a few buildings towering beneath the trees.

“Let’s see,” John put his hands on his hips with a cheerful smile. “Small, creepy, and ominous. Sure, we found the place.”

“I don’t think they are extremely happy to see us there,” Deborah pointed out as they passed a couple of people. They were met with suspicious gazes and quick whispers.

“It’s that Aden’s girl,” one of the passersby pointed at Deborah but quickly stopped talking when she met her gaze.

“Excuse me,” the painter attempted a smile, addressing the woman. “Did you talk about me?” When met with no response, she hesitated. “Do you… do you know my uncle?”

The woman and her friends let out a series of quick mutters and hurried away.

“Well, that’s strange,” John couldn’t help but point out. “Peasants. Go figure.”

Deborah gave him a long look but decided not to comment on it further. “Where do you think we should start searching?” she asked instead as they continued to walk through the town.

John raised his hands in the air with a smile. “The saloon, of course.”

“Sure,” she gave him a face. “That’s _your_ idea.”

“So what?” He shrugged, poking her gently to the side with his elbow. “The barman has to know a lot of what’s going around. Besides, I’m parched as hell.” He put his hands on her shoulder. “Just relax, it’ll be fine. And remember, this was my idea.”

* * *

“Don’t know nothing ‘bout that,” the barman said with a tired expression. He surely wasn’t in the mood to deal with strangers. Especially those all-mighty banker types dressed like they own the place. He wasn’t the one to judge people but as soon as he saw John enter the saloon he knew this was going to be begging for trouble.

“Aw, are you really sure?” John flashed a confident smile, leaning on his stool, one hand holding his whiskey, the other around Deborah’s waist. “Maybe there could be something to be done?” He looked the barman in his eyes as he nonchalantly reached for his wallet, sliding a flattering sum of money on the table. “Like a round for everyone?”

The barman raised an eyebrow, then looked at the half-empty saloon, unimpressed. He did take the money, however. Sure, he could hate all that rich folk as much as he could but he’d be a fool for not taking their money.

He leaned in closer as if afraid the two other people in the room would hear him somehow. “Jacques Campbell was hanged a long time ago. You’re a few years late.”

“We know that,” John frowned, his tone getting colder. He wasn’t very happy about having to spend his time in that dirty hole and he sure as hell would not tolerate some lowly peasants taking him for a fool. “How about you tell us something not everyone else knows?!”

The barman shrugged, his face completely empty of emotion.

Perhaps he doesn’t have a soul, John thought. Certainly would explain _something_. “His family? Anyone who knows him?”

The barman looked unimpressed by John’s raised voice, calmly cleaning a cup in his hand. “Don’t know nothing ‘bout that. Been here just a few years.”

Deborah quickly saw how John’s eyes flashed with anger and laid a palm on his hand. “Maybe… you could tell us if someone else knows?” she asked in the most pleasant voice possible and attempted a smile on her face.

The barman shrugged. “The preacher should know. He’s been here for ages. Go bother him instead.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” John gave him a poisonous smirk, emptying his cup in one go and putting his hat on. “We _will_.”

* * *

The mass was almost done yet it was hard to tell whether it even started. The local church was small and old and only a handful of people attended the service. John realized it wasn’t probably because not many people in Prosperity would care for religion but, well, because there really weren’t that many people in Prosperity to begin with. The preacher, a man in his fifties with black receding hairline was about to conclude the rite for that day.

John and Deborah sat in the last pew but then a figure in the front caught John’s eye.

“What the hell is Joseph doing here?” He whispered with a frown and already prepared to stand up when Deborah pulled at his hand.

“Maybe wait until the sermon ends? Then you can ask him.”

“Right,” John sat down again, adjusting his vest. “I can wait a couple more minutes. I guess.”

The preacher spread his hands in front of him, his voice calm but firm. “And with that, go forth and spread the good word of our Lord.”

“Thank be to God,” the congregation responded half-heartedly and the choir proceeded with a recessional hymn as the ministers slowly processed to the rear of the church.

John and Deborah waited until the congregation left the building, the townspeople already chatting amongst themselves and giving the two strangers suspicious looks.

In front of the door leading to sacristy, the preacher has already found himself in a hurried debate with Joseph. When the priest saw his brother approaching, he looked visibly startled, readjusting his circular glasses.

“Oh pardon me, this is my brother John and Deborah, his…” Joseph’s gaze lingered on her face for a second, as if hesitant to admit their connection. “The owner of the Ellsworth ranch just east of my church.”

“Oh, _that_ miss Deborah?” The preacher’s face beamed with recognition. “I saw your work at St. John’s. Would love to commission a painting someday.”

“Oh, well,” she blushed, unsure how to respond. “We actually came here to…” she was about to finish the sentence when John interrupted her.

“Joseph, may I ask what you are doing here?”

His older brother raised an eyebrow. “Why? Are priests not allowed to travel? Or keep other preachers as friends?” He almost sounded defensive. “I was just talking to father Mathew about the… unusual things happening at home. And I asked whether Prosperity has similar problems.”

“Well then?” John looked at the preacher with expectation in his eyes. “Does it?”

“No,” father Mathew shook his head calmly.

“No?”

“_No_,” he repeated in a voice that suggested it was a blatant lie, but a lie he wasn’t aware of telling. “Everything is completely normal here. Oh well, they found mister Millers at the cemetery yesterday, the poor man shot himself. But other than that, there’s nothing of concern happening. We are a small town, mostly keeping to ourselves. Any excitement here is… quite rare.”

John gave him a suspicious look but decided to let it slide. “Well, in that case, I’ll ask you a question.” He brandished a newspaper clipping with a photograph of Jacques. “Do you remember this man?”

“The young boy Campbell?” The preacher didn’t even bother to look at the paper properly. “Of course. I pray for his soul ever still.”

“Does he… did he have a living family?” John pressed on, not really able to hide his impatience.

“Oh yes,” father Mathew was unmoved by his tone, just as the barman before. “There was a mother. Agnes. She used to be a frequent visitor to the church but her faith waned with age. One day she just disappeared.”

“Disappeared?” John was growing more disappointed with each passing minute.

The preacher shrugged. “Packed all her things and left, right in the middle of the day. As if she wanted to leave and never come back.”

Deborah bit her lower lip. “Do you have any idea where she has gone? It’s _very_ important to us.”

“I’m sorry child, I don’t know,” he sighed but there was little pity in his voice. “You know, these woods have a habit of truly hiding things that wish to be hidden.”

“Wish to be hidden? What are you on about?” John shook his head, unaware of the glare Joseph was giving him. He was never really good with heads of religious authority. Or any authority, when it came to that. When you have an ego the size of John’s, it’s hard to imagine there is an authority higher than yourself.

“There are places in this world,” the preacher continued on calmly, “that are hidden away from the mere means of us people. Finding them is almost impossible.”

“_Almost_?” John’s eyes flashed with opportunity. He wasn’t sure whether he was doing all this just for Deborah or whether he himself was at least a bit curious about what happened to Jacques Campbell. “What are those places?”

Father Mathew gave him a sad smile. “How could I know? I’m but a simple preacher.”

Deborah felt her heart sink. “So you can’t help us? Or know anyone else that can?”

“I’m truly sorry,” the preacher repeated. “I wish I could help. But if Agnes wished to remain hidden she will be only found when she _wishes_ to be found. And now, you will kindly excuse me,” his voice was calm but he left the church at a brisk pace, never as much as looking over his shoulder.

Joseph slowly turned to John with unasked questions on his face.

“Listen…” John started to talk but found himself silenced by his brother’s gaze.

“Does this have something to do with the ranch?” Joseph asked, his tone anything but pleasant.

“No.. Yes... Partially,” John rubbed the back of his neck with an apologetic gaze. “Look, it’s complicated.”

“Oh, is it now?” His brother wasn’t easily swayed. “How so?”

John let out a frustrated sigh. “If I told you you wouldn’t even believe me.”

The priest let out a dry laugh. “After what I have witnessed so far? _Try me_.”

* * *

“Well, that was a complete waste of time,” John said as they returned to their horses. The evening sun was in full bloom, covering the leaves in gold.

“You mean the trip to Prosperity or telling Joseph that there is a church full of ghosts in Devil’s Point?” Debbie asked jokingly as she climbed into the saddle.

“Hah,” John smirked. “Fair point.”

“You think he believes us?” She asked as they began to ride back.

“No,” John’s eyes were on the horizon. “But he’ll come around.”

“Is everything…” she hesitated for a second. “Is everything okay with you two?”

“Sure,” John lied. “He’s just not exactly thrilled about the man I am.”

“How so?”

He smiled. “I’m the youngest child. It was always Joseph who was the _wise _brother among us_._ Always ready to lecture me on everything. I’m not saying his… help is irritating, but lately…” he looked at her with a smile. “Let’s just say his opinion is not the only one I care about these days. And that doesn’t sit well with him.”

“I’m sorry,” she avoided his gaze. “That’s probably my fault.”

“Hey, hey,” he reached out to put his palm on hers. “I make my own choices, okay?”

She looked him in the eyes, then on the road ahead. “Okay.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” he withdrew his hand but his gaze was fixed on her ever still. And then: “Now, don’t look back but someone is following us.”

She felt her heart skip a beat. “Who is it?”

“A lonely vagrant, looks like,” he responded, already reaching for his revolver. “Hardly a threat but let’s be cautious.”

“Alright,” she heard herself whisper but then something happened: a song echoed through the air, a lonely melody filled with summer longing. The vagrant behind them was singing to himself as he walked and she didn’t have to hear his voice to _know_… and she wasn’t sure whether what she felt was deep gratitude or anxiety beating through her heart. “_Lionel_.”

“Sure as hell is me!” He hollered, his distinct Irish accent echoing through the evening air. “Hold yer horses!”

John’s eyes widened. “_That_ Lionel? That’s him?”

Deborah gave him a side-ways stare. “Don’t look at me, I’m as surprised as you are.”

“Nice to finally meet you, mister Seed,” the vagrant stopped in the middle of the road ahead and executed a mocking bow towards John.

The banker raised an eyebrow. “You know my name?”

“Doesn’t matter what I know! Now, what are ye waiting for! Follow me!” He gave them a toothy grin and waved his hands in the air.

“Follow you?” Deborah wasn’t sure what question to ask first. “But why? And how did you find us?”

Lionel rolled his eyes. “You looking for her, no? Agnes Campbell?”

“Alright, stop!” John raised his hand and dismounted from his horse. “What the hell is going on?!” He grabbed the vagrant by the collar of his shirt, his eyes burning. “I had an _awfully_ long day so I’d ask you to start finally making sense and do it _very_ quickly.”

“How charming are we,” the vagrant continued to smile. It wasn’t a pleasant smile. “Look, I was in Prosperity and—”

“We didn’t see you there,” Deborah interrupted him with a look of doubt on her face as she crossed her arms on her chest. “Would notice if you were there too.”

Lionel ignored her, naturally. “And I heard ye guys askin’ around so, naturally, I hurried after ya!”

“You don’t even know us!” John yelled, pulling Lionel’s face closer to his. “What the hell are you on about?!”

Despite the predicament he has found himself in, Lionel couldn’t help but laugh. “Oh, we gonna do this then? Is that how you impress them ladies?” He gave Deborah a wink. “That turns you on, huh— Ah!” He let out a short cry as John’s fist met his stomach. Free of his grasp, the vagrant doubled over and, surprisingly (or maybe not too surprisingly), continued laughing.

“Okay, okay. I get it. Ye don’t trust me. But I have something that might help.”

John kneeled down to look him straight in the eyes. “First you will tell me how the hell do you know all this.”

“Sorry,” he raised his hands in the air. “_Trade secret_.”

John cursed under his breath, standing up and turning away. “Let’s go, I have no patience for this idiot.”

“Alright, alright, I’ll go, I’ll go,” Lionel stood up, gathering his guitar in his arms. “I just thought you might want to know where to look for good ol’ Agnes, is all.”

“And you surely know where she is?” Deborah asked, against all her better judgment.

The vagrant turned around with a grin. “Sure as hell, wouldn’t be chasin’ ye if I didn’t!”

“Are you serious?!” John frowned. “You trust him? He shows up out of nowhere, knows all sorts of convenient things, and claims he just wants to help?”

Lionel sighed but continued to smirk. “Just say you are angry I bruised your ego.”

“I swear to—!” John’s eyes flashed with anger, but he felt Deborah’s hand on his shoulder.

“It’s worth a try, no? Besides, I told you about him. He _does_ know about Jacques.”

John sighed. “Is that what you want?”

She looked him in the eyes. “Yes.”

“Alright,” he let in but kept his hand on his weapon. “But if he tries anything, I’m shooting him.”

“John!”

“What? I hate his fucking accent.”

“Ya know I’m here,” Lionel smiled. “And I have ears.”

John glared at him. “Fine, tell us how to find her then.”

“Weeell, there’s a slight problem,” he rubbed his chin. “I can tell ya, but you won’t find her like that. It’s much easier to show you.”

John sighed, shaking his head. “Alright then. Show us.”

A grin flashed on the vagrant’s face. Oh, this will be fun. “_Follow me_.” 

* * *

It was a complete waste of time. In fact, John needed to point it out. He leaned towards Deborah, his voice low. “This is a complete waste of time.”

She sighed. “You know, I start to think that too.”

Lionel was walking in front of them, humming a song under his breath, carrying his guitar on his shoulder. In fact, it was completely impossible to get the little Irish man to shut up and after an hour of wandering through the forest aimlessly, John was really at the edge of his nerves. There wasn’t a thing he wouldn’t do for Deborah but he was starting to think this was ridiculous.

“I think we passed this rock already,” he remarked without emotion in his face. At this point, he was past the anger. It didn’t happen that often, really.

“That’s because we _did_!” Lionel responded with a smile on his face.

“So you do admit you got us lost?” Deborah asked, harsher than intended. “Sorry for being so rude but I feel like we are getting nowhere here.”

“Hush, we are almost there!” The vagrant waved her complaint away, after which John and Deborah exchanged looks of concern.

The artist was half a mind of thinking Lionel was leading them towards a trap, maybe a group of bandits that will kill them or something; she wasn’t exactly sure what was happening by now.

“AH!” Lionel let out a cry of triumph, raising his hands in the air. “We are _here_!”

John sighed. “That’s a tree.”

“_It is_!” Lionel cheered, pointing at the old trunk in front of him. “That’s the point!”

John blinked incredulously. “We were looking for a _tree_ all this time?”

“YES!”

The banker turned to Deborah with a tired smile on his face. “Shoot me please.”

“I’m sure Lionel will explain everything, am I right?” She looked at the vagrant with concern in her gaze. “Am I right?”

“You are, my fine lady!” He gestured for John to come closer. “Look through here!” He pointed to a small hole in the trunk. Somebody has circled it with chalk and drew a small eye around it.

John made a face but decided to humor him. He lowered his head ever so slightly to look through the hole.

“What do you see?” Deborah asked, unsure whether this was all just a really bad joke.

“Trees,” John responded dryly. “In a forest. How _fucking_ unusual.”

“_Language_!” He heard Lionel in the back and he couldn’t help but roll his eyes.

“Oh _fuck_, my bad... Oh, wait!” He blinked once, twice, closed his eyes then opened them after a few moments.

“What? What do you see?”

“I see a trail! Among the trees.”

Deborah frowned, looking at the forest around them. “John… there’s no trail here.”

“I _know_! I’m going mad,” he laughed. “Lord above, I’m finally going mad.”

“Oh this is fun,” Lionel chuckled under his breath in the background, clearly enjoying himself.

Deborah gave him a look that was way too stern for someone of her usual gentle disposition, then gently tapped John on his shoulder. “May I?”

“Oh, of course,” he stood to the side, still unsure what he had seen.

She peered through the hole, gazed at the trees, then gasped in surprise. “I see it too! _There_! Between those two trees on the left! That’s weird, I’d swear it wasn’t there just a moment ago…”

John turned to face Lionel with exasperation on his face. “What the hell is going on?”

“Well, I have good news,” Lionel smiled, already strumming another song on his guitar. “You are not mad.”

“How is this even possible?” Deborah cried out, standing up to gaze at the path in front of them as if it only now appeared. “I didn’t see it there before!”

“I know the answer!” Lionel lept to his feet, his eyes wide like those of a young child. “MAGIC!”

John rolled his eyes. “I have already seen a flaming corpse and a flying goat. Now you tell me our forest is cursed.”

“I KNOW!” Lionel cheered. “Isn’t that _amazing_?!”

“That’s it,” John threw his hands in the air. “He’s mad.”

“I sure as hell am,” Lionel winked at him. “Proud too. Now, you wanna find Agnes?”

Deborah looked him in the eyes, unsure whether she was fascinated or afraid. Maybe the two go hand in hand in the end. “How do you know all this?”

“Oh well, I’m a vagrant, remember?” He smiled. “I travel the Road. And the Road reaches many places.”

“You speak as if there was only one road,” John pointed out.

Lionel nodded. “The one I’m talking about is sure to be one of it’s kind. She goes to places far and wide, places that are hidden to our eyes. Places that exist _In-Between_.”

Deborah frowned, remembering what father Mathew told them before. “The preacher said the same thing. About hidden places.”

Lionel smiled. “See? Told ya people in Prosperity know.”

“And that’s what happened to Agnes?” John asked. “She went to one of those… hidden places?”

Lionel winked at him. “You catch on quick. She was tired of her life in Prosperity and went to a different place. One away from the roads… from the world.” 

“What?” John frowned. “That’s not possible.”

Lionel gave him a knowing smile, remembering him that he has already seen things that could be named impossible, which quickly silenced him.

“You don’t believe me, I get it,” Lionel repeated his former words, shrugging as he started walking again. “So how about we follow this path that has magically appeared in front of us instead?”

[[►](https://open.spotify.com/track/0SRlb7C7ZU8kjRil3fOHgT?si=5RsSQUbWQYe9YzMDmZQCeA)] “Sure,” Deborah attempted a smile. “What could go wrong?”

* * *

“You’ll be alright,” Mary Ann said as she changed the bandages on Nathan’s arm. “The burns are not that bad and it heals well.”

The young farmhand gave the doctor a look of doubt. “Is that what happened to that grave keeper’s boy, Elijah?”

“Yes,” she admitted as she continued to work. “Though you were lucky. Elijah is much worse off. Not speaking about the…” she paused, “psychical repercussions he’s going through.”

Nathan winced, giving his injury one quick look. “I didn’t see… I don’t remember anything.”

Mary Ann raised an eyebrow. “You don’t? You don’t remember who did this to you?”

He let out a dry chuckle. “Weird, right? Others say it was some kind of a man… but why would he want to harm me? I did nothing wrong.”

She gazed through the window into the approaching night. “Of course.”

“Oh, well,” he sighed, “some things are better left unexplained, am I right? Though I admit, I would like to see the bastard who did this to me, if only to give him a piece of my mind.”

“Right,” Mary Ann finished the work and gathered her things. She stopped in the doorway, giving him one long look. “Pray that you don’t.”

* * *

“Whiskey, as usual,” Jacob murmured as he tapped his finger on the table. The barman gave him a concerned look but shrugged.

“There you go, sir.”

The bounty hunter took a long sip from his glass, looking at the saloon around him. The night was approaching fast but the work was scarcely done. It never was.

“Hey there,” a familiar voice cut through the bustle of the room and he turned his healthy eye towards Rose.

“Hey,” he said dryly, reaching for his glass again. “What brings you here?”

“Work,” she shrugged but raised an eyebrow, either out of surprise that he cared or that he needed to ask in the first place.

“Huh.” Jacob waved for the barman but decided not to press the subject any further.

Rose stayed silent for a while, pondering over her drink before she bit her lip and turned her head to face him. “Sorry for what happened. At the ranch, I mean.”

“You know about it? Oh, well… thanks.”

She waited for a while before she decided to brave the subject. “Is John okay?”

Jacob let out a dry chuckle. “Didn’t know you liked him.”

She smirked. “I don’t. I’m just being nice.”

He shook his head. “Don’t have to be. You know, it might come as a surprise, but not everyone is madly in love with John.”

“Oh really?” she let out a dry laugh. “Didn’t notice.”

“Mhm,” he turned back to his drink again, letting the conversation hang in silence for a while.

Rose emptied her glass and waved for the barman. “Another one.” She let out a sigh, closed her eyes then opened them again. “You know, they saw it there,” she whispered, not looking at him.

“What?”

She shook her head. “You know what. The… _thing_ I saw in Wolfsbane a couple of months ago.”

“Right,” he lowered his voice. “You still believe it?”

She made a face. “You know just a couple of weeks ago I’d be the last one to believe all… this,” she gestured vaguely. “But I know what I’ve heard. It fits the description perfectly.” She laid a palm on his shoulder, gripping it tightly. “It’s here. It’s back and it’s _here_.”

* * *

John, Deborah, and Lionel walked through the forest for a while, the night slowly falling onto the trees. John let the vagrant borrow his lantern, the flames casting dancing shadows in the greenery around them. There was seldom anything unusual about their surroundings as if the forest they were traversing was just a natural part of the world and not hidden away by some unknown forces that escape human understanding.

The path twisted and turned without much logic but before they could realize it, they found themselves in a forest clearing. In front of them, a massive wooden arch loomed over a town square but any other similarities to Prosperity were gone. The town square was busier and the buildings were boasting different shapes and heights and were painted in strong colors as if they were randomly placed together from different parts of the world. This was a town, a complete _town_ full of people going about their lives, hidden away from maps, from the roads, from the world itself.

Lionel let out a cheerful laugh then turned around on his feet. “Welcome to Old Prosperity. So, what do you say, John?” The vagrant grinned as they entered the dusty road. “Do you believe me now?”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



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